#and he just looks back on it reminiscing on the smell of fish and the good ol days (the good ol days in question being a week ago)

[arielluva]

came down with verocky brainworms again so this time i am putting them in situations! the situation in question being camping because why not (mostly bc i thought the fish picture would be funny)

id under cut and in alt text

[ID: some digital drawings of vera misham and wocky kitaki. on the left, there is a colored painting of the two of them. vera is holding a fish in front of her with both hands, while wocky is standing to her right with his arms crossed. both have neutral expressions. wocky is wearing a green hat that says "women want me, fish fear me" and has sunglasses on while vera is wearing a green fisherman's hat and vest over her normal clothes. on the right, there is a 5 panel comic drawn in black and white. panel 1: wocky and vera are sitting by a campfire. wocky is roasting marshmallows while vera is drawing in her sketchbook. panel 2: the fire dies down suddenly, causing wocky to react by saying, "huh?" vera notices the fire has gone down. panel 3: vera rips the drawing she was working on out of her sketchbook, crumples it up, and tosses it towards the fire. panel 4: wocky, with a sad expression asks, "why would you do that?! :( one of your drawings..." while vera looks surprised as his reaction. panel 5: vera averts eye contact and, sheepishly, says, "it... wasn't turning out well..." end ID]

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

Requesting a fluffy seb fic where we just doodle on his skin with a sharpie. Seb would definitely like the feeling of that and melts in an instant!

Also love your fics 🤌💕 You don't have to write my request if you don't want to!

stains of love

☆ lord have mercy i was extremely nervous when i was writing this because i admire your writing :sob:

•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧•*¨*•.¸¸

Recently, you had taken a liking to drawing.

If you were stuck in Hadal Blacksite, you might as well make the most of it.

As of right now, you were drawing Sebastian.

His hair was easy to draw, reminiscent of a typical 2000's anime protagonist. It was almost uncanny, but at least it looked good on him.

Well, kind of, but that was a discussion for another day.

Sebastian wouldn't mind if you gave him a little tiara, right?

You quickly looked around the room, then back to your forsaken paper.

It felt like this was a dirty secret, as if this small paper alone could cause a worldwide war.

You set the pencil down, picking up the sharpie.

Time for line art.

The more you concentrated on the paper, the more you got lost in it.

The marker glided across the paper, leaving a faint alcohol scent that you thought was nice.

It was refreshing, in a way. Even if you were used to the constant horrific smell of fish and salt.

While you finished up the drawing, Sebastian had somehow slipped right behind you without you noticing.

He peered over your shoulder to see him. With a stupid tiara.

Something clicked in your head, and you drew small cat ears and whiskers on his head.

He flicked his lure down, and the sudden light disturbed you.

All you could do was freeze up. "Hi... Sebastian...!"

His right hand wrapped around your head easily, and he applied some pressure.

"Turn around, and hand me that paper."

"Don't rip it..." You swat his hand away, shamefully picking up the paper.

With a groan, you turned around to face him, sort of.

You held up the paper, and he snatched it from your grip.

For a brief few seconds, his eyes glossed over the idiotic drawing you made of him.

You were expecting a torrent of insults, but that didn't come.

"Can you er... Do it on my tail?"

"What..."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, "draw on my tail. Yes or no."

"I... Okay...? Go to your corner." He obliged, slithering to his usual corner while you picked up the marker and followed him.

While you twirled the sharpie around in your fingers, he undid the straps that were on his tail, letting them fall to the floor with a satisfying thud.

"Alright. Go on." He held his hands together, placing them neatly near the hem of his blouse.

You opened the marker, placing the cap on the end. Then, you kneeled down, letting the marker trace all sorts of shapes along his tail.

"Ah... That feels nice." His voice was slightly raspy, and he could feel himself turning into jelly beneath your touch and marker.

Sebastian allowed himself to be turned into your canvas, not just because he enjoyed the feeling, but because he wanted you to be happy.

That's contradicting, but he didn't care.

Suddenly, you stood up. "I wanna draw on your arm now." You innocently smiled up at him, and he just couldn't say no to that cute little face.

Sebastian held out his third arm, in which you looked at the clean gauze. "You finally changed the bandages, huh?"

"Kinda had to." You shrugged it off, taking a seat on his tail.

You took his arm into your hand, beginning to draw on his skin once more.

You happily hummed while drawing the minutes away.

Sebastian intently watched, absolutely melting on the inside.

“Okay, I’ve run out of room!” You looked up at him with a toothy grin, and he lifted his third arm up as best as he could.

Plenty of cats, hearts, and stars were scattered across where skin was exposed. “These actually aren’t horrible.”

“Tha—Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked away from his arm to look back at you, “oh, nothing at all.” He grinned widely, it would be unsettling if the atmosphere wasn’t so comfortable right now.

[ollieollieoxenfree-483-gallery]

Octavinelle x Lighthouse Keeper Reader

The sun hangs high in the sky, the waves lap at the shore, the salty sea breeze blows gently and sways the hair of a young lighthouse keeper. They have been caring for the lighthouse for a few years now, the task inherited to them by their grandfather.

The human walks along the shoreline, looking for pieces of seaglass and smoothed porcelain, collecting them like a magpie. They often pick up pieces of trash and debris as well, wanting to take care of the shore and sea where they live. Their satchel  has been pretty light today, glad their hard work is paying off and their home has been properly cared for.

They take a deep breath, breathing in the salty sea air, and look to the sky with wonder and appreciation. They’ve always loved the sea, oftentimes spending time with their grandfather and spending the summers of their youth in his lighthouse. Their gaze flickers to the lighthouse they now inhabit, their brows furrowing in sorrow. They remember the long summer days where they accompanied him in his tasks, knowing the lighthouse and how to care for it just as well as he, but they were too young to realize he was preparing them for when the time came for the lighthouse to be theirs…

They are interrupted from their thoughts by snarling and thrashing, and their curiosity is piqued. They cautiously approach, moving along the shoreline as quietly as they can as their boot clad feet crunch the small stones and crushed sea shells underneath their steps. They peer around a large stone, their breath catching in their throat at the sight. A man, or at least part of one, with a long serpentine tail and fins along their spine. They are a color reminiscent of the sea, a blue and green mix that's otherworldly. They crouch down, hiding behind the stone as they stare at the creature. It, whatever it is, is tangled in a fishing net, the rope digging into its odd skin and scales, and only getting more tight as it thrashes and squirms. They take a small step forward, their feet slipping from the loose stones and shells.

They fall with a yelp, sliding and landing on their back, and they scramble to sit up when the creature snarls. They back up, their back against the rock, their eyes wide and their chest heaving from the adrenaline running through their veins. They look at the creature, frightened but still curious despite it all, and their brows furrow. The tales their grandfather told them come to mind, stories of creatures of the sea. Of sirens and mermaids and krakens, but they believed them to be just that, stories. Until now, they suppose.

The creature snarls, low and deep, in its throat, sending goosebumps along their skin. They pant, processing their thoughts as they practically whisper in utter disbelief.

“W-What are you?...”

They curiously lean closer and yelp, falling backwards as the creature snarls and slashes at them, the net keeping it from moving closer to them. They sit upright once more, not taking their eyes off of it for a second. Its chest is heaving, the gills along the side of its body opening and closing like its a difficult endeavor. They realize it's been out of the water for far too long, their body no longer moist as there is no reflection from the sunlight off of their scaly skin. They reach into their pocket, pulling out the knife and flicking open the blade, causing the creature to snarl once again, the large fin on their back rising threateningly. They rise slowly, holding the pocketknife in a shaky hand, taking a deep breath before quickly lunging at the creature. They grab the rope, slicing it, and freeing the creature. 

Next thing they know, they're pinned underneath the creature as it snarls and snaps its teeth at them. They close their eyes tightly, turning their head away from it as their body shakes in fear. But the creature doesn’t hurt them, it leans down and smells the crook of their neck. They stay still, not wanting to thrash underneath the creature and cause it to hurt them. It simply smells them before scrambling off of them, slipping back into the water without leaving so much as a scratch on them.

They sit up, looking at the water as a small smile pulls on their lips. They stand, dusting off their pants before gathering the fishing net to prevent any more mishaps with unnatural creatures getting tangled in it. They glance to the water again before waving, not even knowing if the creature is still there, and turn to head back to their lighthouse.

But the creature is there, watching the odd little human with two more of its kind, curious about them and their kindness. The three of them already plan on meeting them again, intrigued by this odd human, and are wanting to make more than just a deal.

[featherandferns]

hurricanes (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | angst central

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of sex; arguments and fights; unhealthy relationship

word count: 7k.

blurb: for so many of your memories, bad and good, it feels as if hurricanes are at the forefront. One night, during the midst of a storm, JJ comes to your house, seemingly to bring you one last memory of him.

You hate hurricanes.

They’re unruly and unpredictable; thrashing and destroying anything in their path. Chaos incarnated.

From inside your house, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind. Sighing, you leave the comfort of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. There’s no chance you’re getting to sleep anyway. Better brew a pot of coffee and maybe get some homework done throughout the night. As you stand over the machine, waiting for it to brew, you look out the window. It’s dark. Rain is splattered across the glass, droplets chasing after one another in an undisclosed race. You manage to make out your reflection. Bags under your eyes. Clothes hanging sadly on your body. Only recently had you managed to start eating well again, putting on weight and getting through more than one meal a day. So, knowing the effort that you’ve been making, you manage a smile.

The t-shirt you’re wearing is one of your favourites. It holds memories: the fit of laugher that had you in tears one night at a bonfire; the day you got your first A on an exam; a date with JJ. Your finger comes to tease at the collar, fingering the fabric, your smile growing from the memories. It felt nice to finally reminisce about your ex-boyfriend without wanting to crumble. Without the thought feeling like someone was twisting the knife that had yet to be eased out of your chest.

The coffee machine stops buzzing. You look down, coming back to yourself, and pour yourself a cup of coffee from the glass mug. Moving to sit on the sitting room sofa, reaching for the remote, you decide to try and distract yourself with a show. Your parents aren’t home and brother’s at college, granting an empty, quiet house. As you flick through the options on Netflix, you hesitate on one. Narcos. JJ loved that series. Had you watch some of the episodes with him – explaining the characters’ motives and filling in the plot-points from whatever you’d missed. A part of you deliberates watching it and letting yourself slip into some fantasy that JJ is sat by your side on the sofa, his hand comfortably on your knee, eyes glued to the screen. But you don’t. There’re new shows to watch, so why go back on the old? Settling on some Netflix-own drama, you sigh and have a sip of your coffee.

“No way, John B actually thinks he’s found the Royal Merchant,” you snort.

JJ shrugs. “That’s what he says.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of the ocean,” JJ replies.

“No doy, idiot. I mean where abouts at the bottom of the ocean?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Oh! Somewhere off the continental drift,” JJ tells you.

He’s opened a bottle of beer for you and is passing it over. The two of you are lounging on your dad’s fishing boat, taking advantage of the nice weather.

“Bullshit,” you say, taking a swig.

“I’m telling you; he’s found it. The stuff in that motel room safe was fucking insane. The cops just pocketing the cash, too?”

“Cops are dirty: shock horror,” you sarcastically return.

JJ laughs with a nod. Then, smiling at you, he says, "well, all I know is when we find the Merchant-”

“-If-”

“When!” he corrects loudly, making you laugh. Then he’s shuffling up so he’s sat right next to you, hooking an arm comfortably around your waist. “When we find it, I’m using my share of gold to spoil my girl rotten.”

“Oh?” You prompt, raising a brow at him with a grin. He nods down at you.

“Mhm. I’m talking fancy dinners and expensive jewellery and that perfume you always check out whenever we’re at the mall but never buy.”

“It’s overpriced,” you brush off, rolling your eyes.

“It’d smell perfect on you,” JJ affirms. Makes your cheeks go warm.

Nudging him with your elbow, the bone digging softly into the flesh of his abs, you say, “well, I guess I could get on board with that then.”

“Just you wait until we find it,” JJ promises, raising his bottle in a silent toast.

Rolling your eyes lovingly at his ways, you lift yours to clink the neck of your bottle against his. JJ leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, sweet and summer-filled, with the lingering taste of beer. You gladly kiss him back, sinking into the familiar feel of your boyfriend. This is going to be the best summer yet.

About ten minutes into the second episode, you think you hear a knock at the door. No; it’ll be a branch having blown away in the breeze. Sighing, you go back to the show, coffee nearly finished and luke-warm. Then, it comes again. Two short raps. Pausing the show, you turn and frown at the door. You can see it from the sofa. There’s a pause, maybe a minute, and then three knocks. You get up and make your way to the door, deliberating who in the hell could be coming to your house in the middle of a hurricane at (you glance to the clock on the hallway as you go) ten to midnight?

As you undo the latch on the door and twist the key to unlock it, you feel your gut twist. It’s as if it knows something you don’t. Then, pulling the door open, wincing against the cold and the wind and the rain from outside as it fights its way in, you come face to face with JJ. The sight of him makes you colder than the weather ever could.

“JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

“Wh—”

Your voice trials off, throat running dry, and you glance back into the house for some reason, as if the coat-stand might have the answers. Looking back to him, brain muddled, you see how he’s leaning against the wall of the entryway. How he’s holding his flask in his hand, the lid unscrewed, and you close your eyes with a sigh.

The rational part of you screams to close the door on him. Do the right thing, the hard thing, and turn him away as if you have barely acknowledged him being there. But it’s not that simple. Nothing is, the moment any sort of feeling has been involved, and you find yourself looking into his red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if he’s high or he’s been crying.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet as if defeated. “I just wanna talk.”

He’s dripping from head to toe, drenched from the rain. Hair sticking to his forehead, leaking water down the back of his neck. Hands shaking from the cold and the booze. Wordlessly, you open the door fully and step to the side, making space for him to walk in. After he catches on and enters, you catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky yet fresh; so wonderfully him. It makes one of the scabbed cuts on your heart crack open. Closing the door, fighting to keep in the warmth, you sigh and face JJ. He’s standing there awkwardly, unsure of where you want him to go. He’s barely able to keep his balance right, fumbling from leaning his weight on one leg to the other.

You gesture to the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’m gonna grab you a towel.”

JJ nods and does as you say, heading into the kitchen. You try not to spiral in your thoughts as you go to the boiler closet, fishing out a fresh bath towel. There’s only one thought that you can’t seem to silence. What is he doing here?

A part of you still feels as though you can hear the wind of the storm beating against the thin walls of the police tent. The sirens and the chatter and the panic. The chaos of trying to help John B and Sarah escape, and the never-ending torture of waiting for any news. That they escaped. That they were caught. That they were even alive.

That was a week ago now.

JJ’s not answering his phone. You haven’t been sleeping well. Your nights are nothing but restless, nightmares plaguing you about all the ‘what ifs’ and the guilt of waving them off in the boat, practically sending them off to their grave. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to burden. Your parents tried their best to help you. They brought you breakfast the first morning that you stayed back at your house (they’d let you crash at the Chateau with the others for a couple of days at first, understanding that all your friends needed one another at that time), and never forced you to come down for dinner. Wallowing felt about the best you could do. You just wished it wasn’t so lonely.

Sighing, ending the call that never stopped ringing, you glance over to your trainers. Since coming back from the Chateau, you haven’t left your house once. Hell, you’d barely left your bed. Then you’re staring at your phone again. At the string of missed calls and ignored texts from JJ. You knew him well and knew how easily he could slip when things changed for the worse. John B was like a brother to JJ. Their bond was so close that it sometimes challenged your own and JJ’s, though never in a malicious way.

Getting up, you put on your trainers and lace them up. You had to check that JJ’s okay.

The air feels fresh on your skin, like a plant gulping down water after days in a drought. You bask in the rays of sun that push through the cloudy overhead. Walking to JJ’s was familiar and quick. Soon enough, you’re trudging up his front lawn and walking around to his window. He’d always told you to come in via there. You never knew where his dad was and what state he might be in, but the odds were low on his being passed out in JJ’s room. The windows always unlocked and you force it up and open with a grunt. Then, you’re climbing on JJ’s desk and glancing around his room. He’s not in there.

What is in there is countless empty beer cans and bottles. The useless ends of joints and cigarettes. It smells musty and sad, like nobody had cracked a window in days. You sigh and kick some stuff out of the way (used clothing and trash) so you can reach his bedroom door. Gently easing it open, you glance into the hallway and through to the sitting room. On the coffee table, you can make out the toes of JJ’s boots. Taking your chances that his dad isn’t home, you walk down the hall to the sitting room.

JJ’s passed out on the sofa. His head is leant back, mouth parted in silent snores, and in his hand is an empty beer bottle. The sitting room is just as bad as his bedroom, maybe even worse. It stinks of weed and alcohol and mould. Everything about all of it terrifies you. You didn’t think he’d sunk this low, so fast. Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

He gets an email and his phone pings, making you glance to it. It’s on the coffee table. There on the home screen are the several missed call notifications and ignored texts from you. If it were any other situation, you’d label yourself as psycho. But you knew something was wrong. Could feel it in your gut.

“JJ,” you say. Clearing your throat, louder, you repeat, “JJ.”

He doesn’t stir.

You reach out a hand to shake his boot.

“JJ, wake up.”

Nothing.

Sighing, you walk around so you’re stood at his side and lean down to shake his shoulders gently, hoping to ease him awake.

“Wake up, JJ.”

He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His hands come to your forearms in a tight grip, reflexively, and you try to pull away. The moment he registers it’s you, he let’s go. He mumbles your name, voice still thick with sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

JJ frowns. He rubs at his face and pushes some of his uncombed hair back. His breath smells like stale liquor; it half makes you want to cringe.

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you. And, I guess I was right,” you say, looking to the pandemonium of the room.

JJ gets to his feet and shakes his head. He’s walking towards the kitchen and you follow.

“You didn’t need to, alright? I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, JJ,” you tell him.

He pulls open the fridge. His back is to you. The shirt he wears looks creased and well-worn, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. It reminds you of everything that happened and just how raw the wounds must be for JJ. How much deeper they are, too. 

“Look, I know this is hard for you,” you tell him gently.

JJ grabs a beer and closes the fridge. Cracking open the can, he turns and rests his back against it, taking a swig. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not ‘fine’, JJ,” you say.

JJ shrugs and has another gulp.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask. Gesturing to him, you add, “you look like you haven’t slept in days, JJ.”

“What’re you gonna do? Sing me to sleep?” he snorts. He’s drunk.

“That’s not the point, JayJ. My parents would’ve let you stay over. I don’t like the thought of you here by yourself.”

“I’m not something that needs fixing, alright? I can take care of myself,” JJ tells you, his voice becoming tighter.

“I’m not saying you need fixing—”

“Are you sure? Cause it sounds like you’re pitying me pretty bad right now,” JJ cuts in. His eyes are narrowed at you as if accusing you of some conspiracy.

Trying to remind yourself of the abundance of emotions he must be feeling right now, alongside the fact that he’s drunk and possibly high, you do your best to keep your calm.

“Of course I’m pitying you, JJ. In the way that a girlfriend would pity her boyfriend who’s dealing with some fucking awful loss,” you tell him.

“He’s not dead, alright? Don’t talk about him like he is,” JJ bitterly mumbles, looking down at his boots.

“We don’t know that, JJ—”

“Well, you don’t know that he is dead, alright? So stop talking about it like you want it to be true!” he explodes. He stalks towards you, angry. “Do you want him to be dead, huh? So you have a little project to work on? So you can come visit your scum of a boyfriend and do your charity work, to make yourself feel better. To distract you from your own shitty insecurities?”

“Why are you saying this, JJ?” you whisper, taken aback. He’s never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not even when the two of you argue. In truth, you don’t argue. Merely bicker, with it all resolved within the day. Nothing malicious and intentional, with words sharpened to cut. The way he’s looking at you right now – as he stands over you, shoulders rigid as if preparing for a scrap – is terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“I don’t want you here, okay? I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“You want me to leave then?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yes. That’s what I fucking said,” JJ seethes. You find yourself pushing back, getting in his face just as much.

“Fine. Drink yourself fucking blind for all I care,” you spit back.

It’s only been a week, and already a chip has been chiselled into the sculpture that was your relationship. The first crack in the mausoleum.

JJ’s sat at the round kitchen table, shivering like an orphan, and you have to keep yourself from instinctively wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Instead, you place it in front of him. He’s put the flask away, it seems.

“Thanks,” JJ mumbles, taking it.

As he rubs his hair dry, you head to the coffee machine. He needs to sober up and you’d found that coffee always worked for him. Hell, you could do with another cup too, perhaps just to keep your hands busy.

“It’s crazy out there,” JJ eventually says, hesitant to start a conversation. You close your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Brian’s throwing a tantrum.”

You’re half-tuned in, mostly lost in the droning of the coffee machine as it brews. You look down at your hands to find that you’ve been messing with the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you had, and one that hadn’t shone through in a couple of months. Not since you and JJ had ended things.

The coffee is done all too soon. Pouring two mugs worth, you brace yourself as if preparing for a slap as you turn to face JJ at the table. His hair is now damp, no longer dripping down his face. Wet clothes are still stuck to his skin, outlining the perfection of his body, and you have to force your eyes away. It’s hard to think that only two months ago you would be blessed enough to be able to run your hands under his shirt, along the smooth, salt-scrubbed skin of his stomach. What once brought you pleasure in thought now only brought pain.

Taking the seat opposite him, you slide his mug over and take a shaking sip of your own. Your eyes are down, focused on the table-top, tracing the scratch marks in the wood, but you somehow know JJ’s watching you. Can feel his eyes following you.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reply.

JJ nods: you catch it in your peripheral. “I do.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Us,” JJ says. You close your eyes. You were worried he’d say that.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about, JJ. There isn’t an ‘us’, anymore, okay?” you sigh. JJ’s already shaking his head.

“There is. You know there is,” he returns in a pleading tone. “Things can go back to how they were again.”

“What?” you almost whisper, brows furrowing in confusion.

“John B and Sarah are back now and…And everything can go back to how it was,” JJ tells you, almost hopeful.

You shake your head, lips pressed in a deep frown. Your fingers press against the hot porcelain of the mug.

“JJ. That’s not how this works.”

“I know things got messed up. That it’s my fault that they did, alright? That everything got messed up after John B…”

Died.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. There’re fresh tears gathering in the waterline. It’s weird seeing JJ cry so openly. He only did it once or twice in your relationship, in front of you. He never seemed willing to let you see that side of him, as if it might make him weak. You notice how his hand twitches away from the mug, as if he might reach out for yours, but something in him decides not to. Instead, the two of you keep your distance; a formal width of space, sat on either side of the table, not daring to cross into the others’.

“We can go back to how we were,” JJ privately says.

Your purse your lips, eyes slipping shut a moment to gather your thoughts. Perhaps this is how Eve felt, when the serpent tried to tempt her with the fruit. Here sits the only guy you’ve ever loved, extending an invitation back into the past, of a time when you were happy, and breathing didn’t hurt, and the thought of romance wasn’t something you shunned. But you can’t go back to the past. Time is forever moving forward, continuous and unchanging, and the sooner you make peace with that, the sooner it can start to heal your wounds.

You never spoke about that first fight. Never acknowledged it, really. JJ just showed up at your house, a couple days later, seemingly sober, and you both decided to move forward. You brushed it under the rug as a slip-up. That he needed to reel out of control a little in order to let himself recover, like the way the earth needs a good thunderstorm during summer to replenish the plants. I mean, how were you to know that it was the beginning of the end?

It was the day after you'd made the memorial at the chateau. Yourself and JJ had slept over at the house, after making love on the pull-out. The moment his hands were on your body, it felt like a silent apology for the fight, and you'd let yourself forget all about it. Waking up tangled in his hold, legs a knotted mess and arm tingling with pins-and-needles from his weight, you can't help but smile. It was the nearest thing to normalcy you'd felt in a long time, since Sarah and John B went missing at sea.

"Morning," you mumble sleepily the moment you feel JJ stir. He presses a kiss to your forehead. His skin smells of dry sweat.

"Hey," JJ rasps.

"You want breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing grin to his words, and it makes you chuckle tiredly. This was the JJ you missed. As one of his hands moves to grope at your ass, you're laughing, gently pushing him off you.

"Perv," you mutter as you get up. Steal his t-shirt from the floor and pull it on.

You trudge to the kitchen, shoving your messed up hair out of your face, and open the cupboards to search for something good. There's no point looking in the fridge; majority of the things in there will be spoiled. This is the first time any of you have been back at the chateau since a couple of days after the incident.

Grabbing a can of soup, you decide it's better than nothing (though far from a classic breakfast). The drawers and counters are a mess. You sigh as you search for a can opener, coming up empty.

"You got your pocket knife with you?" you ask JJ.

He's lounging on the pull-out, scrolling through his phone. The only thing keeping him decent is the blanket that's half-arsedly flung over his waist. You missed seeing him like this, and the sight has you smiling.

"Should be in the left pocket of my shorts," he mumbles in reply, absentmindedly.

You wander over and drop to a squat, digging through his cargo shorts. Nothing, nothing...Your fingers feel something plastic and tactile. Frowning, you pull it out. It's a small plastic baggy containing a white powder. You're not stupid. It's either coke or ketamine. Your frown seems to deepen. Standing up, you hold it up.

"What's this?"

JJ looks up. Spots the bag. Takes in your expression. "Nothing."

"JJ," you say, tone nothing short of serious.

He sighs and rubs at his face, as if finding an excuse to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's fine, alright? I just need a little pick me up, now and then."

"This isn't a pick-me-up, JJ," you say. You know you sound angry, but why shouldn't you be? JJ having an addictive personality was no secret to anyone. His drinking was bad enough. Adding drugs like cocaine to the mix, and your worry trebled.

“What? Are you telling me what I can and can’t do now?” JJ asks. His voice borders on a scoff.

“This is dangerous, JJ.”

“I’m scared straight, hun. Thanks,” he mutters. Leaning forward, he snatches the baggy from you.

“I don’t like the thought of you taking that stuff, JayJ. It’s a slippery slope,” you slowly reply, trying to level your temper.

JJ sighs impatiently, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t help calm the storm brewing inside of you.

“Why’d you always have to ruin everything, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Things were finally starting to go back to normal and you have to fucking fixate on another thing. I swear to God, I never do anything right by you. I mean, I’d just gotten over you losing your shit at me the other day—”

“Gotten over it? I’m sorry, let me just check I’m hearing this right?” you interrupt, shifting your weight. “You got over the fact that your girlfriend had to track you down in person to check you were okay, to find you drunk and passed out? Then you yell at me for coming and tell me to leave, several times. And you remember me being the villain in all of that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do some fucking FBI work to find me; I was in my own Goddamn house.”

“Not the point, JJ,” you loudly counter.

JJ rolls his eyes at you and moves to stand, pulling on a pair of boxers. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You stare at him. Did you just hear him right? Before you can ask or even respond, JJ’s walking out onto the porch as if you’re not in the midst of an argument.

You watch as he grabs a leftover vape that’s laying on the window ledge. There still seems to be some power left in it. He takes a couple of hits. You simply stare after him. It seems useless to follow. Useless to keep chipping away at this fight that you’re bound to lose. So, instead, you turn back to the kitchen and let the distance between the two of you gape. Another argument unresolved.

Opening your eyes again, meeting his that shimmer blue in the low light of your kitchen, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but frown, your expression the image of sympathy. 'We can go back to how we were.'

“We can’t, JJ,” you whisper.

“Who says we can’t?”

“I say we can’t,” you reply.

“You don’t understand,” JJ tells you, as if ignoring your words entirely. You’re shaking your head, staring down into your coffee, but it doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. “I can’t picture my life without you in it. These past couple months have felt like there’s a lack there or something. Like something’s missing. And something is missing. You are. You’ve always been there for me, even before we were together. I don’t…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life without you in it.”

You’re crying now. Silent tears fall down your face. Muffled pain.

The touch of his hand on yours feels electric, but not in a good way. Not in the way it used to. It’s like the shock that it thrills inside of you, which once was excitement, is now merely pain. You half want to jolt your hand back, but that would be too dramatic. Too much.

“Please. Please,” JJ’s begging, crying too. “I just need you in my life.”

“I don’t understand how,” you tell him, voice wet. You meet his gaze again. It feels almost too painful to maintain it for too long. “I can’t be your friend again, JJ. And I definitely can’t be your girlfriend again. So how am I meant to be in your life?”

“You just can! You just have to be there! You have to be there for me!”

Your lip quivers.

He gathers himself, exhaling slowly. “You just…Have to.”

Have to. Like there wasn’t any other way. Like his planet doesn’t spin without you and his universe is empty of planets and stars. Like his world is void of life and you’re the water that can make his plants bloom again. But it doesn’t bring you joy like it would’ve months ago, to hear him say that. It’s too much, too late. Antique coins lose their value.

“I mean…Don’t you miss me?”

Your vision focuses on his tear-streaked face again. Hair still damp. Cheeks pink and nose red.

“Of course I miss you,” you whisper, half-insulted that he’d even ask that. Can’t he see how much this is tearing you apart? “I miss all of it.”

“You don’t have to though,” JJ says. “We can go back to how it was.”

You finally look back down to see his hand still atop of yours. Touch gentle and kind. He used to be kind to you, all the time. Never would raise his voice at you and would never make you cry. But after John B and Sarah vanished, their deaths presumed, it was like something in him snapped. It’s easier to destroy a sandcastle than to build it, and JJ seemed hellbent on destroying whatever bond the two of you had - the love the both of you shared - rather than trying to protect it.

Your relationship with JJ was delipidating. Like a temple built on an eroding cliff, what was once beautiful and serene is now crumbling away, brick by brick. Pope and Kiara and even a stranger in the Goddamn street can see how dysfunctional it is. What was once affection and care is now venom and pain. And yet, underneath all the animosity, there’s still a love that keeps the two of you in place, fighting for things to stay together. After every blowout, one of you ends up in tears and the other is ironically the only person who can comfort them. Then comes the kisses and the apologies and the make-up sex, and the promises to not fight again, and to do better, and to fix what you have. But it’s all a fiction. The next fight comes and it’s uglier still.

JJ seems almost unrecognisable to you most days. The drinking and the drugs and the recklessness is hideous. Brings a pain to your heart that can only be rivalled by the one that comes when you fight. Pope and Kiara don’t see it as much as you do. It’s like he tapers it down for them, only giving them a glimpse. But you’ve always had the honour of seeing every part of JJ, including this. When you beg for him to stop drinking, to try and get himself under control, he goes on the defence. JJ’s words shoot to kill when he’s mad. And it’s like the venom in his words brings out an ugly side of you, too. Infects you with his anger until you're lashing out. When you’re in blind fury, you don’t care what you say, so long as it’s painful. Words that you’d never think come flying out of your mouth. Things you’d never mean are said with nothing short of conviction. About him. About his dad. About him being like his dad. About John B too, sometimes. About it being JJ’s fault. But he doesn’t hold back either. About you. About you and your parents. About you and your exes. About you and John B too, sometimes. It’s ugly and painful and evil.

But it was always words. Sticks and stones, right? You can sooth any cut from a slander with an apology said through soft kisses and softer caresses. Overlay the memory of an insult with sweet-nothings and moans of affirmation. Only words. So, when the next inevitable fight comes with the two of you at his house, after JJ does something particularly stupid at a kegger after flirting with a girl right in front of you to make you jealous, all because you’d said something the other night, you prepare for the hurl of abuse.

“I was just fucking talking to her!” JJ shouts.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You were practically drooling all over her.”

“Drooling!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking delusional, you know that?” he chuckles darkly.

“I’m delusional?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Are you seriously calling your own girlfriend crazy, right now? Do you know how Goddamn sexist that is?” you snap.

JJ shakes his head and does that all-too-familiar walk to his kitchen. You follow as per. It’s like the two of you follow a script when you fight. Insult, jab, insult, jab, drink, jab, insult, cry, silence, drink, comfort, kiss, sex, apologies, promises, sleep. It’s tiresome and it’s pathetic but you don’t want to leave it, because if you do, then you have to face the alternative. You have to face having nothing. No arguments and no JJ. Somehow, arguing with JJ is better than not having him to talk to at all.

But with every fight comes the fading hope that this rough patch will pass, and you’ll be out of the woods, stronger than before.

“Don’t walk away from me, JJ!”

“Stop screaming at me like a psycho bitch!” he shouts back, slamming the fridge door shut. Beer bottle now in hand.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you asshole!” you scream. "Don't you dare drink that!"

JJ laughs at you. "God, it is adorable how you think I give a shit about anything you say to me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I actually give a shit about your health! Clearly you don't, snorting any fucking thing you can get your hands-on like some deadbeat junkie."

JJ isn't replying. Won't fight back. Drinking from his bottle like he can't even hear you. Makes you angrier. Say something, do something.

"Guess you're just living up to the family-traits though, huh? Like father like Goddamn son. No wonder your mom left you."

It takes you a moment to realise what made you stop shouting. What made your breath get caught halfway in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your ears. Then, your eyes are slowly drifting down to the floor, to the side of your feet.

Shards of the broken bottle are scattered on the floor. Beer drips down the wall, spills onto the floorboards, pools around the pieces of glass. The sound of shattering was so loud when it hit the wall. No wonder; it happened right by your ear. It was practically inches from your face.

The shock subsides enough to let tears come. You let out a shuddering breath as the reality hits that it could’ve hit you in the face. That could’ve been your face.

When your eyes come to focus again, moving to glance up into JJ’s, he looks just as shocked as you. Just as horrified.

“Baby…”

He starts towards you.

You hold up a hand, prompting him to stop, and take a wobbly step backwards.

“Don’t,” you rasp. You sound terrified. Half don't recognise your own voice.

That could’ve been your face.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to,” JJ whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I don’t know why I did that. I…”

Your eyes lower to the ground as your hand gradually falls limp by your side. You look to the glass and beer on the floor. How ironically poetic.

“What are we doing, JJ?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he hopelessly replies.

You shake your head. Eyes still fixated on the broken bottle. “I don’t…I don’t think this is love anymore, JJ.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ says.

“It can’t be,” you continue, ignorant to his pleas. JJ comes towards you once more and you shake your head, turning away from him before he can make a grab for your hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says.

His arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you against him, nestles his face in your hair, presses some kisses against your scalp. There’s the inconsistent drip of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into your hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to, okay? I’m so sorry, baby.”

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

Before it was words and that was torturous enough. It was painful when he’d say things to you that he knew would hurt, sure, but you’ve never been afraid of him before. But this, now…You can’t go back. You can’t ever go back from that. It’s with a terrifying thought and a fresh wave of tears that you come to the realisation that you’re scared of JJ. You’re scared of the only person who you’re supposed to find comfort and love in. How does that even happen to someone?

“I know you are,” you eventually say in reply to all his apologies.

JJ pauses, settling on pressing more kisses to your head, squeezing his arms around you tighter, closer, as if trying to stop you from slipping away. But a vase covered in cracks can’t hold water in. You push his arms off you and break yourself free from his hold.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

He mumbles your name. When you don’t turn, heading to grab your jacket from the sofa, he says it again, loud and desperate. You know he’s crying. He’s sobbing. So are you.

“Please, please don't leave me.”

It hurts. It all just fucking hurts. You head for the door. Shake off his hand as it clasps around your wrist.

“Please, baby. We can make this right, okay? We can fix it. I can fix this. Just don't leave me.”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, walking out his door. In fact, you think a part of your soul dies a little as you do. Left haunting his house is the ghost of your past self that you’ll spend forever trying to find again.

You carefully inch your hand out of his touch and get up, walking to the sink, mug in hand. JJ’s sighing. You catch in the reflection of the window as he hangs his head, palms covering his face. Pouring the leftover coffee down the drain, you try and gather your thoughts and feelings. They all conclude into one.

“I think you should leave now, JJ,” you weakly announce.

Your eyes glance at the window's reflection in time to catch his head lift. Then, you’re looking back down into the sink. Remnants of coffee sit stagnant in the basin. More tears fall.

“What?”

“I really think you need to leave,” you repeat.

“Baby,” JJ says, getting up. He’s walking over to you and your heart sinks.

“Don’t call me that, JJ,” you tell him. But there’s no conviction in your tone. How can there be, when all you are is a crying, fragile mess.

“Baby, please,” he repeats, ignoring you once more. His arms are wrapping around your waist, hugging you against him. It's painful deja vu. You shake your hand and put down the coffee mug, moving to try and push his arms off you. It feels claustrophobic.

“Stop calling me that,” you whimper.

This all hurts so much. The knife is twisting and turning and driving deeper and deeper.

“I don’t want you to call me that anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ says. “If we both miss each other then why can’t we just go back to how it was? I can make it up to you. I can be better, this time. I can get clean. I'll be sober for you. I'll do anything.”

Finally, you managed to break free from his hold. You turn around, placing an arm on his chest to maintain some distance. His hands are still open, as if waiting to catch you.

“That’s not that point, JJ,” you tell him.

“Then what is the point? Why is this so easy for you? I mean, did you ever love me at all? Why aren’t you as torn up about all of this like I am? Did you ever care?”

His tone is turning sour, just the way it used to during your fights. It all comes screaming back to you. The desperation and the battles and the pure exhaustion of trying to hold onto a handful of sand, that only will inevitably slip through your fingers. But it makes the emotions catch fire. Searing hot pain.

“Of course I did!” you burst, eyes wet and voice fire. JJ takes a small step back, startled. “Of course I loved you and of course I miss you! I miss all of it, okay? I miss the way we were and the way you used to look at me. I miss you when I go to sleep and I miss you when I wake up. But I can’t have you in my life anymore, JJ. All the shit that happened between us leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I can’t erase the past like it didn’t happen. Even if we did move forward, the past is always going to be there. There’s no way to get rid of that!”

JJ’s sobbing, looking away from you. You realise that you’re crying too. Hard and heavy and can barely catch your breath.

“I mean, God, JJ. Do you know how selfish it is for you to be here right now?”

His head darts back to face you. Emotions a mess, you feel your forlorn expression morph into a demented smile. Through a tearful, self-deprecating laugh, you manage out:

“I was barely just holding it together. Barely just surviving, and then you come here and say all these things to me and have this assumption that what you want is what’s right. But it isn’t, for either of us.”

“But we could just—"

“No! We can’t be together again, JJ!”

Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear your words almost echo around the room. JJ’s staring at you. Both of you are heartbroken. What a pitiful, pathetic mess it has all become.

“We can’t, okay?” you repeat, voice softer. Anger gone.

JJ purses his lips and looks down at the floor. You watch as he nods, closing his eyes as he does, as if he’s admitted something to himself.

“Okay,” he whispers. Sniffs harshly. Wipes at his face. You do the same. “Okay.”

This isn’t how you want it to end. You don’t want him to walk out the door with this as his last memory of you. You can’t keep letting the season end on a bad episode. So, slowly, you reach out a hand to grab for one of his. His arms are hanging by his side, defeated. At the touch of your fingers, his instinctively wrap around yours, and he raises his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. The tears have now subsided, for the most part.

He gives a quivering smile. Bitter-sweet and painful. “Me too.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Now, there’s almost nothing. No zip of excitement or sooth of comfort, and no jolt of pain. Just…JJ.

“I don’t want you to hate me for—”

“I could never hate you,” you say, cutting him off. Smiling yourself, the expression a mirror-reflection of his, you nod. “There’s gonna be a part of me that’s always gonna love you, JayJ. You were my first everything, and that doesn’t go away. Ever. I’ll always be rooting for you and I’m always gonna care for you. But…I have to do it from a distance now, okay? It’s the only way either of us can move on with our lives.”

JJ swallows your words like one might swallow medicine. Unpleasant at the time but affirms a healthy future.

"I know," he nods. "I'm always gonna love you too."

You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding him in a hug, tight and secure. His arms coil around your waist and he squeezes you back. The two of you know this will probably be the last time you ever embrace. Ever get to hold him, and him hold you. Neither of you wants to waste it, but neither of you wants to drag it out, in fear that they may never let go. As you pull away, JJ presses a brief, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Standing in front of one another, once more, you remember the hurricane. The windows are rattling in their frames, rain battering down on them. It’s intense out there.

“You want me to stay?” JJ wonders softly.

You frown.

“I mean-” He gesture to the hurricane-induced storm outside. “I know how you hate them.”

You smile, eyes flitting down. Shaking your head, you sigh. “I need to face them on my own now, I think.”

JJ chuckles soberly. Nodding in understanding, he takes a step or two back. His hands slip into his pockets.

“Then…I guess I should leave.”

“Are you gonna be okay walking home?” you ask. You meant what you said: you’ll always care for him.

JJ nods, smiling brighter still. There’s still the shadow of pain that haunts the expression though.

“Yeah. You know me, I live on the edge.”

With his wink to accompany his sardonic words, you give a soggy laugh. JJ grants you a small wave and another smile. Your favourite smile. Your favourite person. Then, he’s turning around and walking himself to the front door. You hear the gust of wind battle into the house as he opens it, and the hearty slam as he forces it closed.

Standing stoic in the kitchen as if stupefied, you stare after him.

It’s done.

No more new memories. Only the old, to have and to hold, to care for and to cherish. Right now, they’re painful and visceral, but give it time, and they’ll be digestible. You can comb through them and smile and reminisce. Beneath almost every emotion is a tinge of happiness, be it grief or anger. Heartbreak will simply be the same.

Walking back to the living room, you cuddle up under a blanket on the sofa and snuggle against the cushions. Flicking the television back on, you sigh, sit, and continue watching your new show.

From inside the chateau, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind.

“What are you doing?” JJ snorts. His voice sounds like it’s come from the doorway.

You look up from the spot you’ve claimed on the floor, cocooned in a blanket. Your cheeks are wet from tears and JJ’s face becomes void of humour, instead morphing into concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he worries, quickly coming over to you.

“It’s dumb,” you sniffle.

JJ shakes his head as he lowers to his knees, wrapping you into his arms. “It's not dumb.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Well, even if it is dumb, I won’t love you any less. Just might judge you a little, is all.”

You gently batt at his stomach at his stupid joke, making him chuckle.

“What is it?” he asks again, shifting so he can look you in the eyes.

Your rolling your eyes at your ways when you answer. “I hate hurricanes. I guess I have a fear of them or whatever you wanna call it.”

“A fear?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping your wet face.

JJ nods, humming in understanding. He glances around the room a moment and you find yourself inching closer to him for shelter. A flash of lightning shoots a dart of light in the room and you can’t withhold your pathetic, childlike whimper, closing your eyes. Then comes the doomsday thunder. It’s a short pause between the two; means it’s getting closer.

“Here,” JJ says, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. “I got an idea.”

“You do?” You say.

You tug the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. JJ starts moving the sofas and furniture into a weird arrangement. You simply stand back and watch.

“My mamma used to do this for me,” JJ says through a grunt. “Whenever I was scared.”

“JJ Maybank? Scared?” You jest.

He rolls his eyes as he perfects the formation of the armchair, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe, I know.”

“What were you scared of?”

“The dark. And the monsters in my dad’s closet,” JJ replies. He’s now grabbing any blanket he can find.

“The monsters?” you repeat, humour clear in your voice.

“Hey, I didn’t make fun of your current fear of hurricanes, did I?” JJ warns, pointing at you.

You nod and hold your hands up in surrender. That’s fair. “So, what did your mamma used to do then?”

“She’d make me blanket forts,” he says. “To hide from the monsters and the dark.”

“A blanket fort?” you check, smiling.

He’s dragging a blanket over the sofas to make a shelter. You catch on and start to gather some of the throw pillows and couch cushions to make it cosy on the floor, whilst JJ finishes on the structure.

“Yeah. It’s like one of my favourite memories I have of her. She’d make them real cosy and then we’d watch a movie, and I’d be safe.”

When it’s all finished, JJ turns to you and grins. Gesturing proudly to his creation – bumpy as it is – you grin, giggling a little. “Ta da!”

“A Maybank tradition,” you say.

He climbs into the fort and settles on the cushions. The light from the lamp casts through the blanket to give the faintest glow. Holding out his hand, you take it with a laugh and move to sit beside him. He shifts you so you can lay with your head resting on his chest. His arm loops around your waist and you place a hand on his side. It’s quiet in here. The rainfall is barely audible and the thunder is muffled. It feels like its own world, safe from anything else. Safe with JJ.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So, what’d ya think?”

“I think this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, Maybank,” you reply, looking up at him.

JJ grins. “Just wait ‘til we get that gold. The blanket forts are gonna be insane.”

You laugh and shake your head. JJ falls into an extravagant daydream of the forts he’ll build for you: with drawbridges and dragons and all sorts of ridiculous crap, that you know he’s only spewing because it’ll get a laugh out of you. Settling against his chest, feeling the rumble of his voice and shaking of his laughs through his t-shirt, you smile. What a sweetly clandestine memory to share.   

[lycheedr3ams]

Ma'am- respectfully i need more butcher König 😩 any chance you're making him a bot or even just a drabble of him? Thanks so much

y'all love butcher!konig and i am here for it. I’m not going to make him a bot on c.ai but I’ll do a drabble! this is a long headcannon dump, not structured at all lol. also most of this is based off of the butcher who liked me, but he was very similar to konig in some ways

SFW, i want this to be wholesome for now

I really do owe it to the butcher who liked me a few years ago. I hope he’s doing okay

butcher!konig was never entirely satisfied with his job. He just did the same routine day in and day out. Sure, there had been plenty of new girls who came and worked in the grocery store for periods of time. They were pretty and all that, but none of them were anything like you. There was just something about you that butcher!konig just loved. You made his shifts of slicing meat and fish much more interesting when you’d pop your head through the swinging door to just say hi, or how he’d watch you walk around through the little window in the same door. how you'd always smile at him and he could just recognize you by the smell of your perfume before he even saw you. the way it would waft around the store as you passed by just mesmerized him.

You’d have to pass through the meat department every so often to get chicken from the freezer, and butcher!konig always also had to get meat from the freezer during those times. He’d help you unpack the heavy boxes and load them up, and he’d keep you company whenever he could while you fried the chicken in the cramped back space. He’d laugh whenever the oil would splash over from the fryers and stain your uniform, and you always pretended to be mad at him for it. you'd scrunch your nose all cutely and he loved it.

butcher!konig always wore a face mask, reminiscent of the ones during the pandemic days. it was leather, and it almost looked like a BDSM thing, but he quickly explained that a friend of his made it for him when you pointed out that it looked like a kink thing. he blushed so badly under that mask. it truly was just a cool thing his friend made for him. you never asked him why he always wore it even though masks aren't required anymore, and he was always thankful you never questioned him for it. besides, you didnt even mind because his blue eyes were just so damn beautiful. you told him that once, and he quickly excused himself and cleared his throat.

the one time you came into the grocery store to shop as a customer in your normal clothing, butcher!konig couldn't help the way he stopped stocking the shelves and just stared at you. the way your chosen clothes complimented your figure compared to your oil-stained work uniform was astounding to him. he loved your style and just couldn't help but stare at you. you smiled and came up to him and tried to talk to him, but he was very quiet that day and wouldn't look at you when you came up to him. you just made him so nervous :(

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ cw ; gn!reader, fluff | h. iwaizumi.

✮ a/n ; inspired by me playing stardew valley lmao

"You know something?"

When Iwaizumi walks through the door, you're in the middle of making dinner. You've only just started so it doesn't need your attention. He's just come off of a shower, and he smells a little bit like soap.

You don't flinch when he crowds around you, making his presence know as he presses a kiss to the edge of your shoulder. You lay your head back, fixing your eyes on him and turn the stove down so the oil doesn't get too hot.

"What?"

"I wanna go fishing with you."

It's not the first time Iwaizumi has said something so random to you. He's good at doing that, always with a bored face. Sometimes, he's just doing it to see you smile. Other times he verbalizes his last train of thought first but promptly explains the rest.

But this is especially random, so without meaning to - you find yourself in a fit of giggles. He smiles behind you as you try to keep it together, ultimately not being able too.

"What are you talking about?" You say between breaths. He hums.

"When I was about 8, my old man would take me fishing. All the way in the countryside. We'd go visit my grandma, and because I was daddy's boy - I'd always beg him to take me with him." He says, voice full of obvious love. You turn around to look at him, as he hoists you onto an empty counter.

Stood between your legs, you rest your arms on his shoulders. You run your fingers on the short hairs on his neck, smiling.

"And then?"

"He'd always tell me over and over. Hajime, it's boring. But I wanted to hang out with my pops and his friends, so he started taking me."

"Was it fun?"

"Most boring shit I've ever done in my life," He says without missing a beat. You giggle in fake offense.

"So why the hell do you wanna take me?" You ask, incredulous.

"Jeez, I'm gettin' there. Have some patience." He says, only to kiss the corners of your mouth "It really was the boring shit ever. At least it was to me when I was 8. A lot of sitting around and waiting."

"But...?"

"It was boring, but my dad was always having the time of his life. Sitting and catching up with his friends from his hometown, drinking beers until it was late," The tone in his voice goes soft at the mention, and he must be reminiscing about what it was like "It wasn't till I got a lot older that I realized but I don't think it was even about the fish. I mean, it was but - those were just people he cared about it. It's probably the same reason he always offered my mom to go even though she never wanted to."

Suddenly your heart stills. And Iwaizumi looks a lot like a plant in your windowsill, green and healthy. Glowing. You smile.

"So I think I wanna go fishing with you. It'd be the most boring shit of my life, but drinking and talking all night with you. It might make it fun."

You think to yourself, so briefly, that you love him.

"Would you ask me even if I kept turning you down like your dad did?" You ask, coy. He eases into you, pressing your lips to his.

"A million times over."

"I'll save you the trouble and go with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[cowgurrrl]

Please Come Home for Christmas

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: The Christmas season with the Millers [1.4k]

Author’s note: I got a wave of Christmas nostalgia and said fuck it we ball

Warnings: age roll call (Sam: 8, Issac: 6, twins & Lucy : 4, JJ: 1, Sarah: 32, Ellie: 28) mentions of aging animals, pregnancy/babies, Joel not only being a DILF but a GFILF (grandfather I’d like to fuck), reminiscing, NOTE: While Christmas and Christmas themes are prevalent in this fic, readers religious views are not specified and very easily can be added in!!

The house is chaos. Lucia and Tommy are in the kitchen, loudly speaking Spanish to each other over Tejano Christmas music while the kids run around under their feet. Hank warns them about "gettin' in Abuela's way when she's cookin'" and escorts them to the backyard with a quick kiss to his wife's cheek. The tree is sparkling in the corner, cramping the otherwise large living room with the messy handmade ornaments of a well-lived childhood hanging from the branches. You could spot Joel's toothy kindergarten photo from across the room if you tried. Maria opens the back door, wine in one hand and a half-made Christmas garland in the other, to yell at the kids for roughhousing too hard and earning an apologetic wave from Hank. 

You sit on the couch with Maria and work on stringing popcorn and cranberries on a long piece of fishing wire. She sighs when she sits back down, and you struggle to remember what you were talking about when Daisy suddenly steals a piece of popcorn from the bowl and runs away. "Daisy Mae!" You scold, but when her big, droopy eyes meet yours, she knows you're not really mad. The years have flown by, and the sweet puppy who showed up at your door one day now has white on her face and struggles to keep up with the kids when they want to play. She can have as much popcorn as she wants as long as Joel doesn't know about it. 

"God, do babies always smell bad or just mine?" Ellie asks as she walks into the living room with a squirmy JJ. He turned one a few months ago, and now all he wants to do is run around with the big kids. You open your arms, and Ellie hands over said smelly baby without hesitation.

"They smell bad for a little bit, but then it gets better." You say in an obnoxious baby voice as you smile big at the baby. 

"I told you!" Dina announces as she taps Ellie's hip to get by her to throw away a dirty diaper. You can hear her asking Lucia and Tommy if they need help, which they vehemently deny before shoving her out of the kitchen. "They run that kitchen like the goddamn Navy." She says upon reentry, and you laugh.

"Trust me, I've been trying to infiltrate for years now, and they haven't let me."

"Guests don't cook!" Tommy calls from the kitchen, and you roll your eyes. The backdoor slides open again, and you expect one kid or another to be crying from a fall or a bending of the rules, but you find Sarah and Ethan coming back inside. Well, you see Sarah's belly before you really see her. She, like Ellie, is wearing a red sweater, and her curls are half-up in a green bow. She's glowing. 

"I'm ready to be done with this pregnancy. This is bullshit," She breathes as Ethan helps support her into Hank's big Lazy Boy. Her hands rest on her bump, and she looks at you. "I don't know how you did this so many times." 

"I've only been pregnant twice, remember?"

"Oh, right. Twins," her eyes widen as she looks at Ethan. "We are not having twins. We're done."

"Yes, ma'am." He says diligently before kissing her forehead and asking Lucia for entry into the kitchen in Spanish. She greets him with loud kisses on both cheeks and gives him a glass of water for his heavily pregnant wife. You always knew you liked Ethan, but seeing him be such an attentive dad and husband only solidifies it for you.

"I remember how miserable I got at the end with JJ, too. Hopefully, you'll go into labor sooner rather than later." Dina sympathizes, and Sarah pokes at her belly.

"D'you hear that? People other than me want you out, you little terrorist."

"Honey, please don't call our daughter a terrorist."

"When she's the one sitting on your bladder, you can call her whatever you want."

"Daddy's home!" Your eight-year-old sprints through the living room with a posse of children behind him. Issac can keep pace with his long legs, but the girls— Lucy, Sophia, and Violet— struggle with their little, four-year-old strides. Poor JJ is left in the dust and gives you the saddest face ever as his cousins run past. Dina coos and takes JJ to soothe him and give him a chance to get in on the action as Joel trudges over the threshold with a gaggle of children and H-E-B bags slung over both arms.

"Little help?" He calls as he enters the living room. Everyone starts getting up from the couch to help unload the groceries, but Joel lifts a grocery-clad hand before Sarah can move a muscle. "Not you, mama. You rest." 

"Thank you." She says, and he hums, kisses her head, and elbows his way into the kitchen. One by one, you unload the groceries from the bed of Hank's truck and into their respective places around the house. Sam and Issac run away with an impressively large slab of brisket to give to Hank, and all three of the girls get distracted by the large metal tins of Christmas popcorn, complete with images of Santa wearing a cowboy hat on the side. 

It's chaos, but it's perfect chaos. Festive music and sweet smells float around the house as the sun sets on a chilly December Texas day. The lights around the house and on the tree cast the rooms in a comforting red, green, and white glow. You catch the kids laughing and whispering to each other as Tommy and Lucia dance together between stirring, patting, and baking. Dina and Ellie guide JJ around the house, helping him strengthen his wobbly legs and letting him feel involved. Ethan steals snacks from the pantry and brings them to Sarah's throne of a chair. You think he'd bring the world to her if she asked for it in this moment. Hank is in the backyard and bounces between showing the boys how the barbeque works and how to make the cows moo back. 

You're smiling at the insanity when Joel jerks his head toward the front door. "Got one last thing in the truck I need help with," he supplies. You figure it's something from Santa or something he didn't want the kids to see and get excited about. So, you agree and follow him out into the orange dusk and shiver a little at the sudden temperature change. You get all the way to the driver's side of the old pickup when he looks up at the tree he parked under, making you look up, too. You can't stop the laugh from leaving you at what you find. Hung above the truck in a tree older than Joel is a tiny sprig of mistletoe tied with nimble guitarist fingers. 

"When did you even have time to hang that?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Anythin' is possible with Christmas magic." He snarks. You laugh and step into him, looking between him and the mistletoe as his cologne wraps around you.

"You're cheesy," you say. "And also stupidly romantic." 

"Yeah, yeah." He says as he leans down to kiss you. His beard scratches your face, but he makes up for it in the sweet way he holds you. He's warm and firm and so fucking perfect it makes you wish you could freeze this moment forever. He mumbles a quiet "I love you" and presses kisses all over your face like he's worried the spell will break if his lips leave you. 

Ten years ago, you got married on this same property. Eight years ago, you brought your son here for his first Christmas, and then four years later, your daughters. Your grandchildren have also spent their first holiday seasons here (Lucia was more than willing to buy a menorah and learn about Hannukah for Dina the second she found out she didn't celebrate Christmas). Every Christmas, you've brought Daisy and watched her run in the backyard. Then walk. Then lay down in front of the door, sighing like an old man. You know, perhaps someday soon, you'll have your first Christmas since your twenties without her. Someday, the kids will have their own traditions and families. Someday, Lucia and Hank won't have the energy to host the entire Miller-Hernandez-Caradonna clan for holidays. But that's someday. Right now, you're kissing Joel under an old tree with fairy lights and mistletoe strung throughout its branches, and the air is cold and full of nostalgia, and it's chaos. It's perfect. Until a distant cow moos loud enough for it to reach you all the way in the front yard and makes Joel pull away from you with an astounded look on his face.

"Was that fucking Roger?"

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[lookmomiwrite]

Art by @robustaart. Check them out! They're very talented and do commissions.

I found this art on Reddit and after reading thirsty comment after thirsty comment, I was inspired to write a story with this character. Enjoy! And follow for more.

The Serpent of Selune

The doors of the tavern swung wide and rain sprayed across the old wooden floor. A young woman followed, head held high and her veil dry, despite the raging storm. The typhoon stayed even the most daring captains from leaving port and forced sailors to take refuge in taverns along the harbor, gorging themselves on food and drink in a gluttonous celebration of respite. Sarelin let the doors shut behind her as she left a trail of watermarked bootprints in her wake. She stood for a moment, eyes scanning the patrons before her.

Their eyes latched onto her and murmurs spread through the groups of sailors and dockhands; though, most returned to their games, food, and drinks. A man stood from a table sat in a dark corner of the tavern and made his way to Sarelin. He was covered in ragged clothes, pants ripped above the ankles, boots with holes, and a sweat-encrusted shirt with its sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. He stopped before her, bottle of rum in hand, and swayed side-to-side as he drank.

“Miss, you’re standing before Dungan, known as Blackburn, The Prince of Pirates,” he said with another swig of his bottle and a stifled laugh. He swung around to face gawking patrons, hands held high in an expectation of praise and applause, but when none was received he turned his attention back to Sarelin. “Why don’t you come join my boys over there, we’ll show you a good time.” He reached for her with an unsteady hand but Sarelin swatted him away before he could make contact.

“You smell like a stray dog.” Disgust filled her voice as she spat those words at him.

Sarelin pushed past the drunk and he stumbled back. Onlookers mocked Dungan with laughter as he retreated to his table. She carved a path through patrons to sit at the bar next to a man dressed in a fine leather tunic over a white sailor’s shirt, both opened in the front, which revealed his bronze skin below.

“Do you always have to dress like you’ve just left a brothel?” She asked.

“Only when I want to annoy you, Sare. Besides, if we’re talking about sex appeal, I’m completely outmatched. Half the tavern still have their eyes on you. No one but that drunk has noticed me.” The man chuckled as he motioned to Dungan — in a way someone laughs when nervous to meet an old friend — and downed the last of his ale. His solemn countenance returned. “I take it since you’ve traveled all the way from Alomont, you’ve accepted?”

“I just thought I’d hear you out in person, Garrick. Besides, I’ve missed our little adventures and the hunting grounds in Alomont are becoming sparse.” Sarelin removed a mirror from her bag then adjusted her veil. She shifted the mirror to look over her shoulder, the image behind her dim but still bright enough to reveal the sailor who harassed her. “It looks like poor Dungan had his feelings hurt.”

“Ignore them, they’re not worth your time. Tonight should be about reminiscing of the past and looking to the future. I’ll buy you a drink and tell you about the plan, they have a special ale here that I’ve—”

“No, not yet, there are matters to attend to before we start. Excuse me for a moment.” And before Garrick could try to stop her, she was halfway to stairs that led to the guest rooms. Unlike the well lit and noisy dining hall, the maze-like hallways of the upper floors were calm, dark, and empty. The noise of patrons below faded as Sarelin walked deeper into the labyrinth, replaced by bellowing winds and taps of branches against walls and windows — an otherwise cozy place if not for the foul smell of the fish market.

Sarelin spun at the sound of floorboards croaking and met the glare of Dungan. His breath reeked of rum and vomit, his gait wide and boorish, his words slurred nearly to the point of drivel. Dungan dropped his empty bottle and grabbed her hands. “It’s dangerous for a little lady like you to be alone at night—“ he paused a moment before feigning spontaneous thought, ”I know, how about I help you find your way back. I’m the Prince of Pirates after all, what is a prince if not chivalrous.” Dungan belched out a drunken laugh and pulled her towards a nearby room as she screamed. *** “Ho! Innkeeper, a pitcher of Holn White Ale, will you? Heard it’s your new specialty.”

“Aye, Garrick,” the Innkeeper answered, “Haven’t seen you in years, what brings you to Holn?” The Innkeeper was a heavier set man and renown for his ales. Twenty years of serving up food and drinks from his family run tavern made him a man of secrets, and not just of the brewery.

“Just a bit of business, as usual. Anything interesting? Rumors, bounties, murders maybe?”

“Murders, ay? There is a new killer. Guards found bodies two weeks ago. Already been five deaths since. The Serpent of Selune, they call ’em. Leaves the bodies shriveled up like jerky, no blood or wounds, say’n it’s a vampire — I’m not sure what to think but the church put a thousand gold piece bounty on the killer’s head. Not sure about you, but I’ve never seen a bounty that high for just a vampire.” The Innkeeper paused before being called by another patron. “Busy night, lad, tell me some stories when it dies down. If you want the bounty, I’ll give you the bishop’s calling card. White Ale, on the house.”

Garrick gave the man a nod and drank from the wooden tankard. The tavern was as lively as ever. Years ago, Garrick brought his own crew to shelter under the same oaken roof. Six long years traveling the world by ship, making a name for himself that would become his legacy, and returning here for rest. The sound of heavy-footed drunkards freed from his thoughts and he set down his ale as Dungan’s crew surrounded him.

A man leaned over the bar and smiled as he propped himself up by his elbows. “Where’d your lady friend go? Hope nothing bad happens while you’re away.” The men laughed on cue as if they rehearsed their petty threats beforehand.

Another one spoke, “What? Can’t hear or someth’n?”

A third joined with a crooked grin, “We’re say’n we’re gonna join the captain. You gonna stop us?”

Garrick turned to the men and raised his tankard. “That lady friend is a woman who needs not the protection of a man like me.”

Dungan’s crew glanced at each other, faces contorted, trying to grasp Garrick’s reluctance to help a woman they thought he was acquainted with. Each shrugged and stumbled to the stairs. “Guy’s not very fun. Was hoping to step outside and teach him a lesson,” one muttered. *** The door swung open and Dungan’s crew walked in, met by a woman sat in a chair next to the bed, one leg crossed over the other and her head resting in her hand — bored. Dungan hunched over a pillow in a dream-like state, humping wild as he cried out for his men to join him. The men cackled in unison.

“Control yerself boss,” the lead man said.

“Too worked up to see he’s fuck’n a pillow.”

“A bit too much rum,” another said.

Tears rolled down their cheeks as they verbally lashed their boss. Sarelin straightened in her chair and placed her hands into her lap. She looked to the trailing crew member, a scrawny man with scars that lined his body and gave him an air of authority among scoundrels. “Close the door.” Her voice cracked like a whip and her eyes glowed yellow. The man stiffened and shut the door behind him immediately.

The other men turned on the man as they laughed, Looks like the captain isn’t the only one who's overeager. Good boy, Vernon.”

“Silence.”

Dungan and his crew froze and the room fell to silence. Sarelin stood from her seat. “Men like you are pathetic. You drink a bit of alcohol and lose control. You believe you are strong and I am weak. But here you all are, frozen with fear, charmed by a woman far more dangerous than the seas you hide from tonight.” She turned towards Dungan and placed her hand on his head. Her fingers bit into his flesh as she squeezed, but they did not pierce the skin to wound him. Instead, they passed through like a phantom in the mists, doing damage not physical but ethereal. “There are things much worse than death — Watch.”

Sarelin pulled her hand away and a flash of red light filled the gap. Dungan’s body began to shrivel. The light grew dim and took his form, shrunken by Sarelin’s black magic and malformed, closer in appearance to a tumor than a man. She ripped her hand away and held it high. Dungan’s body slumped over the pillow. “This is a soul. An ugly one, made grotesque by his actions. And I’ll have each one of yours soon enough.” Sarelin walked to the leading man, her gait light, each step slow and deliberate. She seemed more a queen than the demon she was. A tear rolled down his cheek. A relic of the laughter the men shared moments ago or from the fear he felt now, Sarelin couldn’t tell — nor did she care. *** The dining hall quieted as guests retreated to their rooms. It was nearly midnight. Sarelin strolled down the stairs, her face bright and lively despite the hour, eyes sharp and focused as she took her place next to Garrick.

“A full meal tonight… Guess I’ll order for myself then.” Garrick said with a smile. “Why not have a drink? The Holn White Ale is quite good.”

“How chivalrous of you, to notice a parched lady’s thirst. I expect nothing less from the true Prince of Pirates.” She leaned into Garrick and wrapped her arms around his. “Now, let’s hear about your plan to plunder the church’s treasury.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Please, follow for more stories and if you have a request, leave a comment!!

[catrinauthor]

The Face of Desire Part 3

Time is relative. To those who had experienced very little of it, a second could be worth a lifetime. To those that have experienced much of it, a second is but a grain of sand on a beach. Indistinguishable. It is the same for humans as it is for curses. Perhaps there will be a few stones that stick out from among the sand, moments that can be reminisced upon and remembered. Yet, as the beach becomes larger those too will eventually find themselves ground into sand, and what was once sand will become dust.

That's what the Curse of Desire believed to be true as it lay deep in a cave off the shore of the tiny island called Japan. It curled up among the tide pools watching as the tide went in and out, in and out. The world had become so full. So full of humans, machines, and desires.

In and out. In and out.

It barely needed to lift a finger to absorb the desire of the world. There were so many new things to want, to covet. Always being replaced with another. The days of horse drawn carriages soon passed and were replaced with metal ones than ran on coal. The steam, then oil.

In, out. In, out.

Swords which required skill and mastery to use were replaced by bombs which needed only a button to unleash catastrophe. Long were the great sorcerers that were once the pinnacle of human achievement. They were replaced by those who were lesser in mind and ability.

In, out, in, out.

Endless desires as far as it could see but they had no taste or substance, they were empty. It was like feeding on air. A few times it was tempted to grant its own desires as it stared at the small grains of sand and creatures in the tide pools at its feet. It dug through the sand of its memories trying to find the one which brought it the most fulfillment. It tried to remember the last time it tasted anything worth remembering.

It pulled a red pebble from the lapping waves.

There was that one time it tasted something similar to the color red. Ah, now it is remembered. Sukuna was his name, Ryomen Sukuna. Since he had turned himself into a cursed object the world had gone quiet. It flirted with the idea of granting its own desire, to taste his one more time. It thought about it, but never committed to the action. The idea of breaking its heavenly restriction and becoming vulnerable was a line it could not seem to cross. Perhaps it was its human origins which prevented it from allowing any harm to come to itself. Some deep seeded biological response to death. It wondered how long the desire would last, maybe the desire was a part of it.

It tossed the pebble back into the pool with a soft splash. It gently sank to the bottom, settling into among silt and muck until it was no longer visible.

Splash

It lifted its head. A loud splash echoed from the mouth of the cave. It sounded like a rock was being dropped into the ocean from the cliff side.

Splash, Splash.

Two more came in succession after the first. The Curse of Desire didn’t pay it any mind at first. As days became weeks then months became years, the constant splashes which interrupted the rhythmic heartbeat of the ocean waves became too annoying to ignore.

Out of pure discontent for the constant disruption, it ventured out of the cave. A small curse swam at the mouth of the cave. It looked like a fish, swimming in circles and figure eights mindlessly. As the Curse of Desire climbed the cliffside and saw human years of footprints on the cliffs edge. The edge had become so worn with their coming and going it was void of any green, just a barren patch and had its own smell.

It followed the footsteps inland to a large village which had not existed when the curse had originally descended to the cave. There were large buildings made of metal and glass, thousands upon thousands of homes of all sizes and shapes, so many different metal carriages - or cars as they were now called. Humans dressed differently and spoke differently. New curses roamed about born of things that the Curse of Desire had yet to see or feel.

For all the noise around it, everything was terribly bland. A mouthful of plain rice would have more flavor.

It only paid attention to their desires just enough to learn of what had become of the world. It wasn’t there to feast on such unsubstantial wants.

The incessant splashing. It wanted it to stop.

The barren patch on the cliff's edge had a particular smell to it. It followed that smell through the city streets until it came to its source, a small district of the city steeped in lust. While lust no longer held taste for the curse it did have a very particular smell. Salty like stagnant seawater. The streets here reeked of it. Women in all levels of dress walked the streets while men leered both openly and discretely.

The Curse of Desire followed the scent it remembered from the cliffs edge, shifting through the other putrid strings tangling around it, pulling it until it found the source. A large multi-story house planted on one of the many winding streets. It watched as men and women left came and went from the houses next to it. The men always left sweatier and happier than they came and the women always left looking tired.

It had not seen many pregnant women in this area of the city yet quite a few came and went from this particular building. One day it saw something strange. A man with snow white hair cut neatly at his nape appeared at their door in the middle of the night, an older woman let him in without a word like they had seen him many times before.

Men coming and going from buildings in the area was nothing noteworthy, but for this particular house it was. The saltness of the air was cut by the mans desire and the flavor which came off the him did not fit the usual profile of those who frequented such establishments. There was no lust in him; only desperation, jealousy and anger.

The white hair reminded the curse of a story it was told centuries before, a powerful sorcerer with white hair and blue eyes. The curse followed him out of curiosity, sticking to the shadows flat as a painting. It watched as the man took off his shoes and began down a hallway. He opened a door and went in without thought. Soon the curse heard the primal sounds of sex.

When the sounds ended, he left the room and continued down the hallway to another. He went in and out from room after room. Each room the man entered there would be a pause followed by moans, squeals and grunts.

The curse continued following. It could tell the white haired man was a sorcerer by the concentration of his cursed energy, yet the man didn’t seem to notice the curse following it. He must not have been very powerful or skillful.

One of the rooms the man entered the curse followed, still stuck to the dark edges of the room. Still unnoticed. A woman sat on the bed and began undressing as soon as he entered. It was his fifth and final room of the night. He began undressing himself, throwing his clothes on the chair next to the bed. The curse thought it would have been easier if he took off his clothes the moment he stepped through the door rather than taking them off and putting them on after every session.

The way he laid with her was as devoid of lust as his desire. As soon as he removed his clothes he was upon her. Laying on top of her and thrusting haphazardly. Regardless of his lack of enthusiasm the woman wrapped her arms and legs around him, moaning and gasping while he stared at the headboard with eyebrows drawn together. His eyes weren’t blue like in the story it was told so long ago, but rather a deep gray.

He finished inside her and removed himself. Wiping his member of any traces of the woman before putting on his clothes.

“You know Kimiko is almost due.” The woman said, still laying on the bed, crossing her legs to keep everything inside, “I’ll get the same amount if I make a second one?”

“Just focus on making the right one this time,” He said gruffly as he buckled his pants. “I told you before, if I get what I need before then just get rid of it. Even if you don't deliver I’ve been paying you all well enough haven't I? Or have you formed a union.” He buttoned his shirt.

She scoffed and sat up. “How’s your wife?”

His glare made the woman tense, she hugged her chest instinctively.

“Focus on doing your fucking job.” he spat as his finished the last button. Taking a closer look at his face, the man must have been half way through his life, 50 perhaps.

He left without another word, leaving the building behind in the drowning sounds of the rain.

The crassness and cruelty of humanity was nothing new to the curse, it had existed since they began. To try and understand the meaning behind it would be as useful and trying to fill a cup with no bottom. But it would do anything to stop the splashing which disturbed its rest, including following the man who may have a part to play in the constant disruption.

The man got into the back seat of a slick black car which was parked secretively in a ally two blocks from the building. He headed away from the city. He drove for a while, across plains, hills, woods and fields of houses until it came to a large gate surrounded by a forest in the mountains. The man who drove the car pressed a button on a box similar to the phones the curse had begun to understand. After some static a voice spoke.

“Who is it?”

“Master Hiroto has returned.”

The gate opened with a buzz and the car drove up a thing winding road.

There were more sorcerers here, much more powerful than the man in the car. The curse stuck to the trees as it followed them, suppressing its own cursed energy into a tiny ball. Folding it in on itself and tucking it away in its stomach, making it unnoticeable to even the most skilled of sorcerers.

The car stopped in front of a large single story Mika style mansion. The entryway was beautifully decorated with rock gardens, bubbling fountains and local plants that were meticulously maintained in cloud-like shapes. Even in the mist of the mountains it was beautiful.

A man dressed in a black and white suit came and opened the door for the man named Hiroto. The curse noticed servants coming to and from the house in the same white uniform. It copied their uniform and snuck in behind them. There were so many servant, no one noticed one more.

The entryway fed into a large courtyard. As Hiroto walked in, servants stopped their daily tasks and bowed. He didn’t even look at them and continued his brisk pace. Gravel crunched underneath his shiny black shoes. He reached the main door, a giant solid block of dark glossy wood carved with stories of sorcerers past and their achievements. The same man who had opened the car door and been following him since opened the large door as well.

The inside of the mansion was simple yet exquisitely decorated. The interior was a perfect representation of Zen style. Neutral colors gave a soft texture while tastefully painted shoji screens separated rooms. Perfectly placed bonsai trees and rare plants stood on pedestals complimenting the floor which was a mixture of tatami matts and stone. Even the curse could appreciate the arrangement.

Hiroto stopped in front of a large screen door, he seemed to tense as the man who opened the door gently slid the screen. He slowly walked into the room and went to his knees, bowing til his forehead touched the floor.

“Master Gojo, your son Hiroto has arrived per your request.”

[callmebrycelee]

9-1-1 REACTION

We finally get the conclusion for our harrowing season 7 opener! This reaction is for the season 7, third episode “Capsized” which originally aired March 28, 2024. The episode was written by Juan Carlos Coto and Lyndsey Beaulieu and directed by executive producer and Glee and American Horror Story director Bradley Buecker. Spoilers ahead! 

“It’s the pungent aroma of orange people having sex.” – Kianna Harris

We begin the episode by going back to the very beginning. We are introduced to the Harris family in a scene very much reminiscent of the 1990 comedy film Home Alone starring Macauley Culkin, Joe Pesci, Daniel Stern and Catherine O’Hara. We see the youngest Harris sibling, Corey (played by Leo Abelo Perry) sitting on the curb playing his Nintendo Switch while his parents Lonnie and Eliza Harris (played by Eddie Blackwell Williams and Amy Argyle) argue over who is supposed to order the car for their drive to the airport. The rest of the Harris family is rounded out by older siblings Kianna Harris (played by Kiara Muhammad) and Keshawn Harris (Samuel Dunn III) and their grandmother Darlene Harris (played by Deborah Marcano). In true Home Alone fashion, they almost leave Corey behind. 

We switch over the cruise ship where Kianna and Keshawn are complaining about the smell of the ocean air. Meanwhile, Corey is still glued to his video game. We then see the Harris family walk by Norman and Lola Peterson (played by Daniel Roebuck and Romy Rosemont). Lola compliments Darlene on her hat. We also see quite a few moments of Corey nearly getting left behind including the moment when all passengers are told to evacuate the ship. When Eliza realizes Corey is not in the lifeboat with the rest of the family, she gets off in search of him. Poor Corey is blissfully unaware of the all the chaos erupting all around him until he feels the explosion several floors below. He sits up and climbs out of the top bunk. We see Corey looking out the window at the giant wave coming towards the ship. 

Cue title card.

“What are you all doing on the ceiling?!” – Norman Peterson

We see the aftermath of the ship capsizing. Everyone is accounted for except for First Mate Kenneth (played by Anthony Carvello) who we last saw in the crow’s nest trying to send a distress call right before the wave hit. Since nothing was ever mentioned about the poor guy in this episode, I’m gonna assume he’s sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of the ocean. OMG, they killed Kenny! Sorry, had to do it. Speaking of people not long for this world, our belligerent and greedy passenger Jarod (played by Christopher Livingston) is lying crumpled on what used to be the ceiling. The rest of our crew is huddled around the walls of the room while Norman Peterson is still strapped to the craps table which is currently on the ceiling. 

These first three episodes of the season are supposed to be an homage to the 1972 disaster film The Poseidon Adventure starring Gene Hackman and Shelley Winters, but this scene reminded me of the upside-down puzzle in the 2019 film Escape Room starring Taylor Russell, Logan Miller, and Tyler Labine. Bobby is concerned about the table Norman’s attached falling from what used to be the floor and goes to work using some red straps to fashion a rope which he uses to repel down on top of the bottom of the table. He ties the same red rope to each of the table’s legs and then uses a wrench to unscrew the bolts holding the table in place. The others down below slowly lower Bobby and Norman down. My heart was pounding so hard during this sequence. We usually don’t get to see Bobby in Tom Cruise Mission Impossible mode. He usually leaves the heroics up to Buck. Athena tells Bobby she wishes Buck could’ve seen him do what he just did. He tells her that he would’ve rather seen Buck do that. 

“Bobby and Athena’s cruise ship might be missing.” – Maddie Buckley, to Howard “Chimney” Han

Back on dry land, Maddie talks with Chimney about recent events. She tells Chimney that Hen has been cleared by Chief Simpson to come back to the 118. Chimney wonders that if that’s the case, why hasn’t she come back to work. He asks Maddie how she knows all of this, and Maddie tells him about Hen’s visit to the call center. She tells him that Bobby and Athena’s cruise ship might be missing and that the Coast Guard has attempted tried to reach out but hasn’t heard anything. Chimney asks if Hen reported any of this information to the chief. Maddie says that she did, and that Chief Simpson told her to report back to work. The 118 gets a call which means Chimney and Maddie have to end their conversation. Buck asks who is missing: Bobby and Athena or Hen. Chimney says both. As the ladder truck leaves, Hen sneaks into the station before the doors close.

“I won’t be an idiot if you won’t be a selfish harlot. Too late!” – Norman Peterson, to Lola Peterson

Back on the ship, now that Norman has been lowered from the ceiling, Bobby suggests they all head to the bottom of the ship, which is now the top of the ship, remembering there’s an open hole there after the explosion. Julian (played by Rick Cosnett) thinks this is a bad idea because even if they somehow manage to make it to the top, there will be no one to save them. Lola tells him to lay down and die. Ouch! Bobby says that while they don’t know what will be waiting for them at the hull, they do know that if they continue to stay where they are, the ship will sink. The funniest part of this scene is when Bobby asks Julian to assist with moving Norman. Norman doesn’t want the man who has been having an affair with his wife to lay a finger on him. Lola tells him to not be an idiot. Norman tells all of them that if he’s going to die, he’s going to do it with dignity. With the help of the ship’s doctor, he is able to get up on his feet. The group make it out of the casino right as a grand piano falls down on the glass center causing water to rush inside. 

“Nobody wants to look for a ship that hasn’t asked for help.” – Hen Wilson

Hen sneaks into the office and fills out a Los Angeles Fire Department Property Resource Requisition form. She gets a call from Maddie who tells her she’s trying to get people to take their situation seriously. Maddie asks where she is and tells her she knows she didn’t go back to the 118. Hen asks if she’s checking up on her. Maddie tells her whatever it is she’s doing she doesn’t have to do it alone. Hen tells her that she tried using official channels but that didn’t work. Now she is going another direction. Maddie asks her what that means and Hen ends the call by telling her the less she knows the better. 

“I know a little about you. That little squeak you make.” – Julian Enes, to Lola Peterson

The ship is taking on water and Athena questions the path they are taking. Security Officer Wes (played Denzel Johnson) suggests using a door behind one of the cafes to access the maintenance shaft to get to higher ground. When he attempts to open the door, there’s another explosion. Security Officer Wes takes the brunt of the damage and quickly succumbs to his injuries. Bobby, Athena, and the rest of their gang are shocked by his death but press on without him. It was super sad watching the security officer’s body floating in the water. Now, just in case you’re keeping tabs on our remaining survivors, we have Bobby, Athena, the Petersons, Captain Ochoa (played by Mercedes Colon), Dr. Gibson (played by Eddie Jemison), and Julian left. At this point, the body count is rising faster than the water.

“That could be why I haven’t been getting your Christmas cards.” – Tommy Kinard, to Hen Wilson

Hen takes her requisition form over to the Los Angeles Fire Department Air Operations unit. She introduces herself as acting captain from the 118 and tells the pilot named Melton (played by Thomas Hobson) she has an emergency requisition for a chopper and pilot. Melton looks over her form and tells her he hasn’t heard anything about a missing cruise ship. Hen says the situation is fast-moving due to the hurricane. Melton continues to question Hen’s motives but thankfully an old friend comes to the rescue. Former Los Angeles firefighter Tommy Kinard (played by Lou Ferrigno Jr.) tells Melton he and Hen used to work together at the 118 back when she was just a probie. I was so happy to see Tommy. I’m a big Lou Ferrigno Jr fan and the last time we saw him was way back in season 2 in the episode “Bobby Begins Again”. 

Tommy tells Hen he has a chopper fueled and ready to go. Hen is confused by all of this and asks him what going on. Tommy tells her he’s just helping out an old friend. She asks him who called him. Tommy opens the door to the chopper and Hen sees Chimney, Eddie, and Buck inside. Eddie hands her a jacket and tells her to get inside. 

“C’mon, guys. Stop agreeing with each other like you’re fighting. It’s weird.” – Eddie Diaz, to Howard “Chimney” Han and Hen Wilson

Tommy flies them right into path of the hurricane. Things are really intense inside the chopper. Eddie and Buck attempt to break the tension by getting Hen and Chimney to talk to each other. Chimney is miffed because he thinks Hen doesn’t believe they all have her back. He says that they all faked having food poisoning to get them out of their shift at the 118. Hen admits that Chimney didn’t do anything wrong and that he doesn’t have to prove anything to her. Chimney tells her she didn’t do anything wrong either. Buck asks the two of them if they’re good. Hen says they’ve always been good. Chimney asks her why she didn’t reach out to them for help. Hen tells him she knew that if she told him, he’d want to tag along, and she didn’t want him to risk anything over some wild hunch she had. Buck says he will back her hunches any day of the week. No questions asked. Eddie voices his agreement. Buck says that if there’s any chance Bobby and Athena are in trouble, he doesn’t mind getting fired. Tommy says he doesn’t think anyone should be worried about getting fired because they’re probably not going to survive this mission. Yikes!

“Bobby! Bring him back to his mother and bring yourself back to me.” – Athena Grant, to Bobby Nash

Back on the ship, our crew has stumbles across Eliza Harris, mother of Corey Harris, trapped under fallen debris. While Athena attends to her, Norman and Lola have a conversation about the state of their marriage. Lola admits that she let Julian use her. When Norman asks her why, she tells him it’s because he stopped touching her. She then points out that they’ve been together since they were 17 years old and that she’s never been with another man. I actually laughed out loud when Norman responded with, “Neither have I”. He asks her if she’s fallen out of love with him. Lola says she thought she had but she was wrong. Norman says he thought they’d be together until they both died, and Lola says she still wants that. Norman says that she might still get it.

Meanwhile, Bobby is trying to pry open the door that currently has Eliza’s arm penned. He breaks open a nearby case and takes out an axe. I got really nervous watching this scene because the last time I saw an axe brought out on this show, someone lost their arm. Thankfully, Bobby uses the axes to break the handle on the door. He’s now able to slide open the door; however, he quickly realizes the door was acting as a tourniquet for Eliza’s arm. With the door moved, Eliza is bleeding profusely. Bobby sends Julian to grab some blankets out of one of the nearby cabins to use as a tourniquet. Dr. Gibson finally does the thing he purports to do and manages to stop the bleeding. Bobby tells Julian the two of them are going to have to carry Eliza but the mother of three refuses to go without her son. Captain Ochoa says that the son’s room is on deck twelve. Athena offers to go look for him, but Bobby tells her to stay put. He will be the one to go search for Corey but not before he and Athena share one of those passionate kisses you only see in the movies. 

“Who cares!?” – Tommy Kinard and the 118

Tommy flies Hen, Chimney, Buck, and Eddie to the vicinity of where the ship last showed up on radar. He tells them they have about twelve minutes to search before he has to turn them around and head back. A message from Chief Simpson comes in over the radio but Tommy pretends there’s static and shuts off the radio. 

“You were right. That is one big hole.” – Norman Peterson

Athena leads the others minus Bobby to the giant hole made by the explosion. Athena hears a helicopter and tells the others that whoever is searching for them is expecting to see a cruise ship, not the bottom of one. Julian climbs up to the top and attempts to fire the flare gun. He slips, falls, and dies. I hate that he died. Yes, it’s because of him that things are as dire as they are and he’s definitely to blame for the deaths of First Mate Kenneth, passenger Jarod, and Security Officer Wes. I do wish he would’ve stayed alive, so he could’ve been taken into custody. Bobby manages to locate Corey and this kid has the nerve to say, he doesn’t talk to strangers. Lola, meanwhile, goes underwater and grabs the flare gun that Julian dropped as his body plummeted into the water. Athena sends off a flare and Tommy and the others are finally able to see the capsized ship. Just as a Bobby and Corey are about to drown, Buck and Eddie open a hatch and rescue them.

“Let’s talk about it in 10 or 20.” – Norman Peterson, to Lola Peterson

Much like the episode of 9-1-1: Lone Star where Judd and Grace’s truck crashes into a lake, a lot of details of the actual rescue are glossed over in favor of a scene where we see everyone safe and reunited with their loved ones. Chief Simpson delivers a press conference and makes it seem like the rescue mission was his idea. Hen is relieved none of them are getting fired for going rogue to save Bobby and Athena. Hen thanks Maddie for tattling and Maddie says she will always have her back. I really like this scene because as I’ve said in a previous reaction, we rarely get scenes between these two characters which is funny to me considering how close Hen and Chimney are. Bobby gets off the helicopter and sees Athena. The two of them rush over to each other and share a kiss straight out of a golden age Hollywood film. Lola goes to see Norman before he is rushed off to the hospital. She asks if he’ll ever be able to forgive her. He implies they’ll talk about it after she gets out of jail. Lola is then escorted away by an officer. Bobby tells Hen he is proud of her and calls her captain. 

“Alone at last.” – Bobby Nash, to Athena Grant

In the final scene of the episode, a weary Bobby and Athena return to their home with takeout food. They sit on the sofa and sit in silence. This silence is much different from the kind Athena was worried about. Bobby jokingly says he needs a vacation and Athena says she needs a toothbrush. They talk about how all of their luggage is sitting at the bottom of the ocean and share a laugh. I love how they’re both wearing very touristy T-shirts they probably got from a gift shop once they made it back to land. The two of them kiss and run off to the bedroom. 

Wow! What a satisfying ending to an amazing season opener. 9-1-1 is back and better than ever and they have the ratings to prove it. Words cannot express how happy I am to have this show back on TV. The move to ABC was a brilliant idea. Not only did it save the show, but the viewership has also gone up considerably. According to the 9-1-1 page on Wikipedia, since the switch from FOX to ABC, ratings have gone up from an average of 4 million viewers to over 5 million viewers. If the show continues in this direction, there’s no doubt in my mind about getting another season. 

I’m glad we got the happy ending I was wanting for this story. Yes, we lost some people along the way, but I’m especially glad Athena, Bobby, and Norman Peterson survived. I honestly feel bad for Norman and how things unfolded. He seems like a decent guy and yes, maybe he did neglect his wife, but the response to that should never have been to cheat on him and turn to a life of crime. I hope we get to see him again at some point and see that he’s moved on with his life, hopefully not with Lola. I cannot see a reality where Lola doesn’t go away for a long, long time. I wonder what her son thinks about all of this. I imagine it must’ve been really embarrassing for him to see his mother naked on a billboard pointing a gun at the LAPD and LAFD. 

I’m also happy we got a happy ending for Hen and Chimney. These two are #friendgoals and I’ve never seen them fight like this before. I’m glad Hen was able to admit there were things she could’ve done better regarding the drunk driving incident, and I like that Chimney acknowledged he could have done things better as well. I’m glad that in the end, Chimney, Buck, and Eddie proved they had Hen’s back no matter what. They all risked their lives and their livelihoods to save their captain and Athena. That’s real friendship right there. I’m also glad that Tommy helped them out because he’s a big part of Hen and Chimney’s origin story at the 118. 

 Lastly, things seem to be back on track for Athena and Bobby. I like that their relationship issues weren’t magically remedied. They still have a lot of work to do but at least each of them understands where the other is coming from. Athena realizes that she’s not alone in the relationship and Bobby knows now that he is deserving of his second chance at love and life. I hope the next time we see them in therapy they’re together. Bobby and Athena are endgame as far as I’m concerned so I wasn’t too afraid for their relationship; however, it’s good to see that all relationships need maintenance. 

This was an incredible episode, and I cannot wait to see what happens next. According to Wikipedia, we’re only getting ten episodes this season which I don’t mind. After the strikes last summer, I think most of us are just happy to have any new television right now.  As far as disaster episodes go, this one has been moved to the top of my list. The tsunami episodes from season 3 and the earthquake episodes from season 2 have been shifted down to the second and third spots on my list, respectively. I look forward to more action-packed episodes on 9-1-1. Until next time …

[hanayori89]

How a Hero Reacts

* Arbiter's Grounds *

Link was convinced that the Arbiter's Grounds had been frozen in time. Not a single grain of sand looked displaced from his first visit. Even the same areas managed to bubble with the familiar threat of quicksand. And where there was quicksand, it was certain there were Moldorms. Link surveyed his surroundings, making sure no threats lay concealed within the silence of the sand. He eyed a clawshot target suspended in a cleft in the wall. It made him reminisce about the excitement he felt the first time he entered the grounds. This time around, he felt pathetic. Each temple he had traversed had a special code waiting to be cracked. They also had a boss at the end, waiting to test his skills.

Now the only challenge Link had where he could test his skills was the herding of Fado's surly goats.

He secretly hoped there would be some type of enemy roaming about. It had been too long since he felt the weight of his sword in his hands. He missed the adrenaline coursing through him as he thought on his feet through rigorous combat.

He also had a certain Twili snug beneath his chin. Whom he would like to show off for. She had heard so many tales of him in the Twilight. Link was beginning to doubt whether he could measure up to the legend of him that had been generated. In fact, it was a great fear that weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Was the fate of a hero simply to be a tale passed down through generations and eventually forgotten? He knew one hero who had suffered that very fate.

"Link?" Y/N mumbled into Link's collar. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Link's ears seemed to perk up, adjusting to the room around them. All Link could hear was the faint rolling of the sand that swirled around them in the slight, dewy breeze.

We stopped moving. Why is there a breeze? Another gentle slap of air met Link's face, rustling through his bangs.

Y/N gasped in alarm. "There it is again!"

What astute hearing she has. Link felt caution circulate through the air and nip at his skin. The wind only seemed to roll past the spot where they resided. The noise was focused precisely where they stood on the spinner. He also didn't favor that the room ahead was completely dark. Luckily, he had some spare lamp oil he never discarded when he visited with Midna. Link tended to hold onto things. He never knew when they would come in handy; this being one of those times.

"Y/N, I'm going to investigate. I want you to stay on the spinner. There's a lot of treacherous quicksand areas."

"Do you think there's still monsters here? Even after you and Midna crushed Stallord?" He could hear the slightest rattle of fear within her question.

"There shouldn't be. But you can never be too sure." Link fished in his tunic for the small vial of lamp oil. The lantern he had attached to him felt liberating to remove. He handed it to Y/N. "Put a bit of lamp oil in this lantern while I look around. We'll need it for the darker areas of the dungeon. A little goes a long way."

"Like with smelling cinnamon?" She pulled her head away from Link and met his eyes. A goofy smirk graced her face. How could he keep avoiding her after that? Link found himself imitating the same grin. Until he realized that once again, they were a hair's length away from each other's lips. Only this time, there would be no one to interrupt them. Aside from the distasteful eyes of the sages, who most likely were watching their every move.

"I-I should go find the source of that noise you heard." Link steadily backed away from Y/N, while his eyes remained focused on her glistening pout. He turned and jumped from the whirling spinner. Or so he had intended. Instead, he clumsily managed to get his foot caught on one of the nodules. He fell down, tasting a mouthful of putrid sand as he landed face-first.

"Link!" Y/N called to him. He slowly arose, spitting out gritty chunks of sand.

"Goddesses, Link, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Just an absolute ridiculous fool. He stood, brushing his hands down his tunic in an attempt to scrape off the sand that was now breaded to him. So much for showing off my swordsmanship.

Through the strands of his bangs, he could see Y/N. Her hands clasped over her mouth. A slight stifle of laughter was in the back of her throat. "Go ahead. Laugh." Link spat mockingly.

Missing the cue of his shame, she let out a gut-busting laugh. She grabbed her stomach as tears streaked her face. The fury of giggles never seemed to come to an end.

"I'm going to go find out what you heard."

"Link, please...let..." words evaded her as the laughter continued to roar on.

"I can handle it myself!"

"With all due respect, you just fell from the spinner." She clasped her mouth again in a feeble attempt to calm down. Y/N jumped off the spinner and walked towards him.

"With all due respect, I told you not to get off of the spinner!" Y/N put her hands on Link's shoulders, urging him to relax. The laughter from the well of her stomach had finally dried out. She cooed, "Link, don't be ashamed. You're allowed to be human. You are one, after all. That's why I-"

The dim, cracked concrete of the Arbiter's Grounds slowly morphed into his cozy kitchen. Y/N was looking at him, stone-faced, from across the table. "I wanted you to react." The same rhythm of his heart palpitating from the night before began to pang in his ears.

"That's why you what?"

"I..." She hung a lip on her finger, unsure of herself.

A deep gulp rushed down his throat. The suspense was coaxing him to lose his calm exterior. He grabbed her face in his hands. "You said last night you wanted me to react. Are you sure that's what you want? Are you sure you want me to react to you?"

I'm not strong enough to keep playing this game. I'm not strong enough for much of anything anymore.

Then the unthinkable happened. Link wasn't sure if it was the comfort of holding Y/N's warm cheeks against his palms. Or the concerned flicker reflected in her eyes. Or the fact that he tried to be too strong for too long. A tear plopped down his cheek. A gargantuan teardrop. Within it was all the stress of this disagreeable wedding with Ilia. His mundane life, which consisted of fruit and goats. The fact that he too would drift away like heroshade, living the legacy of being a forgotten hero nibbled away by the cogs of time. And then there was his love for Y/N. For the first time, he was experiencing what love was without duty. He wanted to be by her side. Even in a crusty, haggard place like the Arbiter's Grounds. There was no place he'd rather be. Just by her side.

Y/N's mouth opened wide, alarm setting in. "Link?"

She reached her fingers up to brush his tear away. Only for an intrusive crunching of sand to come between them.

A Stalkin had erupted through the sand. The explosion knocked Y/N backward into a patch of nearby quicksand.

"No!" Link bellowed in outrage. He leapt towards Y/N; his body once again coated with granules of sand. The Stalkin let out a miniature growl from its scraggly mass of bones. Stalkins weren't too much of a threat, just menaces of the desert.

Link held on to Y/N's hands tightly, attempting to pull her out of the quicksand with all his might. His footing was unsteady as he continued to skid towards the hungry bog. "Link! Release me! You can't pull me out!" 

"No-" Before he could retaliate further, a swish of air, followed by a sharp pain, singed his back. The Stalkin had struck him with its blade.

"Curses!" Link winced in pain as he continued to pull Y/N's hands relentlessly. The sand was now at her waist. She continued to remain calm, not fighting against the current that was threatening to swallow her whole. "Link, you must let me go." The calmness in her voice did little to alleviate the panic he felt. He was the one who defeated her father and ousted Ganondorf. Now he couldn't even save her from a hole of wet sand. The anger of the disappointment he had become fanned flames of fortitude throughout him. He pulled harder.

The Stalkin took another swing. This time, he lanced him in the back of his leg. The sudden jolt of pain brought Link to his knees. He flopped onto his stomach, fighting against the might of the sand that continued to coerce Y/N further down. Without his feet planted into the sand, there was no traction for Link to pull from. Yet he continued to hold on.

"Please. Link. Please, let me go." She begged as she tried to release her grip from his. He grabbed her wrists instead. The sand was now at her chest. Time was mercilessly running out.

As time ran out, so did the Stalkin's patience. It let out another guttural growl, raising its blade above its head. Link wished it was slow motion, but the swiftness of the next cut landing on his forearm occurred all too quickly.

Then came another hack of his arm.

Then another.

"Link!" Y/N's cry echoed into his ears, incapacitating him.

"For the love of Hylia! Would you get off my ass!?" Link stood, the dimness of the grounds not able to sheath the wrath in his gaze. Link pulled his sword out. With a lightning quick slice the Stalkin's skull flew clean off of its neck.

Link watched as the head rolled across the room, hitting a wall and disintegrating back into the sand from which it came. The body hysterically jangled around in search of its head. Bloodlust seized him then. He couldn't stop at just the head. The Stalkin was technically no longer a problem without it. Link just didn't care. He was tired of holding back in every area of his life. He would not hold back on the battlefield.

He jumped up, driving his blade downright into the Stalkin's body. "Be gone, pest!" Link shouted in unabandoned rage. He landed on his knee, the sword piercing through the chest cavity that once held a heart. Droplets of his blood splattered the lifeless skeleton before him. He pulled his sword out, staring in satisfaction at his handiwork. Yet the rage that was cooped up inside of him wouldn't allow him to walk away. He drove his sword through the Stalkin again.

And again.

And again.

He couldn't control himself. Gasps of his breath wheezed out like thick cumulus clouds that hung in the sky.

"Link..."

"Y/N!" Link's malevolence had bested him and distracted him from the one he could never seem to save.

He ran over to her, but it was too late. The sand began to swoop over the last visible part of her face, her lips. As the quicksand claimed her, a few fingers stuck out of the sand like rogue flowers in mud. Link pressed his fingertips against hers before they finally faded from his sight.

I always let her fall. Why can I never save her?

"Y/N!" Link began to bang his fists against the sand. The imprints of each capable fist in the sand taunted him.

"Y/N!!!" The echo of desperation in his voice taunted him.

"Y/N!!!!" The copious tears that splashed the sand really taunted him.

A/N: Edited 1/18/23

Uh-Oh. Be careful what you wish for. It seems Link's wish for some lighthearted combat has turned into combat for your life. As you are helplessly swallowed into the relentless sand sea of the Arbiter's Grounds, is all hope lost?

Or will you live to die another day?

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

✍️ Wattpad link in bio ✍️

[maria021015]

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR CHAPTER 30!

Zaida hugged her knees to her chest, digging her bare feet into the sand and feeling it between her painted toes. Her hair whipped lightly around her, the wind playing with the tendrils as she sat on a flat rock and looked out at the ocean. Birds flew over crashing and rolling waters, dipping to the surface to pluck fish from the glassy barrier. She could smell the salt in the air and feel the warmth of the sun beaming from beneath broken clouds in the sky above. How many countless hours had she spent out here over the years, either collecting shells or snorkelling around the rocks with Dad and Xander? How many days had she spent reading beside Mom on the sand beneath a bright-coloured umbrella? She’d never get to do that again.

“How long are you just going to stand there?” She asked, knowing Stiles was there behind her. After breakfast they’d spent the morning creating a code for Ancient Arcadian Greek to the modern characters, starting to translate the titles of each section, typing up an English copy as they went. They’d both decided to take a break, and she’d found her way outside while Stiles had a shower.

“You’re supposed to be blocking.” The boy reminded her, dropping to sit beside her with his legs crossing beneath him, clad in fresh navy shorts and a white linen button-up.

“I saw your shadow on the ground.” She explained with a smirk, gesturing at the darkened patch of sand in the outline of their figures, connected in the shapes of the shade.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He prompted gently, resting his forearms atop his knees.

“I took it all for granted,” Zaida mumbled, fingers fiddling with the golden rings on her fingers. “All those times I spent with them…I never appreciated it the way I should have.”

“You don’t have to be back in the moment to do that. You being here and remembering them is appreciating it.” He pointed out wisely. “I never sat in one spot long enough as a kid to properly cherish many moments with my mom, but it just makes the memories of those few times so much more special.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it,” She turned her attention away from the rising waves to look at him, her eyes following that spattering of beauty spots up his neck and across his face. The honey colour in his eyes melted to molten gold in the sunlight. The rock they were both perched on wasn’t entirely big enough for both of them. His thigh was pressed flush against hers and his shoulder bumped her own. If she would only shift forward a couple of inches their noses would be brushing against each other. Another inch further and it wouldn’t just be their noses…What the hell was she thinking? Startled by her own train of thought, Zaida focused her gaze back on the rhythmic rise and fall of the sparkling surface of the sea.

“You know, instead of reminiscing about old memories, how about we make some new ones?” He offered, getting to his feet, dusting off his shorts and holding out his hand to her with his palm facing skyward.

“Oh? And what is it that we’re going to do?” She arched a brow, tentatively placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to stand.

“Do you trust me?” He grinned with a mischievous glint in his amber eyes. She dipped her chin into a hesitant nod and immediately regretted it when the boy sprung forward to lift her, practically tossing her over his shoulder. Where he was hiding all of the strength required to do so, she had no idea.

“Stiles!” She squealed, her voice involuntarily launching into a higher octave as she clutched at his back, trying to maintain balance in whatever way she could as he bounded towards the ocean. Cold water splashed around her ankles and her heart lurched in her chest. “No, Stiles, please! Don’t!” She begged, but it was too late. She fell through the air for a brief moment, slipping from his loosening grasp. In a split second her body was engulfed in freezing cold, her eyes shutting reflexively. The sand was not that far beneath her - they were still in the shallows - so she got her feet beneath her and pushed herself up to stand, emerging from the surface. “Hey! I trusted you!” Pulling her sopping wet curtain of hair away from her face she glared at the boy, who just stared at her with bright eyes and a fond smile frozen onto his lips.

“And that was your first mistake,” He chuckled. The hem of her dress floated around her upper thighs, the rest of it clinging to her form. The white fabric was slightly see-through now and traitorously outlined the curves and dips of her body. In that moment Stiles decided he loved sundresses. Especially when they were on Zaida. The same Zaida that was now furiously charging towards him with revenge in her hazel eyes. He turned to run entirely too late, her fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging him backwards, sending him staggering deeper into the ocean. In losing his balance he managed to shake her grip and waded in further until the water was lapping at the bottom of his chest.

“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily.” Zaida cried out and went after him. He slipped under the surface in one smooth motion as she pushed his shoulders down with all of her weight. Springing back up, Stiles pushed his flattened hair back, wiping the salt water from his eyes and peering through the haze to find her with a smug smile on her face.

“Wow, that was refreshing! Thanks for that,” He brushed it off casually and she narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance, having hoped that she’d piss him off as he had her. “You know, you should come for a swim with me.”

“Oh, no. That’s not happening.” She shook her head fervently as her eyes widened in protest, stepping backwards as he approached slowly. “Stiles, I mean it!”

Stiles didn’t care. In fact, he took it as a challenge. Her dress weighed her down and he caught up swiftly, looping his arms around her waist and hoisting her off her feet, dragging her backwards. The water level rose quickly and she kicked and yelled, struggling against his iron grip to no avail. When he finally let her go, there was no sand to be found beneath her feet. She was simply treading in open water, her hair floating like a black halo around her as she whirled, the water swirling around her. Stiles noted that her hair was several shades darker when wet, and her eyes were so much greener in the direct sun. Her nostrils flared slightly as she huffed at him in frustration. He was too busy laughing at her to realise that a wave was coming straight towards him until it was too late, and he was engulfed in the water. Coughing and spluttering, he finally broke through to come up for air. By her snickering, he could tell it had been entirely her doing.

“That’s right, Stilinski. You’re in my domain-” Zaida boasted but was cut off by her own shriek when she felt something slimy brush against her ankle. She floundered around in an attempt to escape it as her heart pounded against her ribcage, the water splashing around her as she launched herself at Stiles. She flung her arms around his neck to pull herself away from it and his hands immediately went to her waist, his brows furrowing in concern. “Oh my God, it touched me…it touched me, ewwww!”

“Wait, are you…” The worry in his features faded and gave way to realisation and then a snort as he spied a dark patch of greenery through the clear water. “You’re scared of seaweed?”

“Shut up!” She hissed, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, untangling herself from him and slapping his chest. “I didn't know it was seaweed.”

“‘Your domain’, my ass!” He exclaimed in uncontained laughter and she scowled at him, swimming back to where she could stand and stalked away, back towards the sand, holding up her hand and flipping him off as he called out after her. “Hey! Come on, Zay. Come back, I’m sorry! I’ll stop, I promise.”

“Enjoy your swim! There’s a storm rolling in, by the way. Don’t forget to be struck by lightning on your way out!” She shouted back without so much as turning to glance at him, fighting off a faint smile from her lips as she left.

Zaida was curled up in the cosy bay window of the downstairs library, the rain pattering against the glass as the storm raged on outside. A cable-knit throw was wrapped around her, and pillows were propped behind her comfortably. The occasional rumbling of thunder and flash of lighting was soothing to her as she read one of her old books she’d plucked from the neglected shelves, perfectly setting the mood of the marshes of Victorian-era England. Most of her collection was left here amongst the ageing paperbacks and she’d been pleased to rediscover some of her childhood favourites.

The one loose floorboard by the library’s entrance creaked, alerting her to Stiles’ presence. Her eyes flickered from the words on the page to the boy who entered, holding two large mugs of steaming chocolate liquid. His hair was still wet from his swim, but he’d changed into dry jeans and a cream-coloured hoodie. “Oh no way, they made a book of that movie?” He spied the title of what she was reading, and Zaida closed her eyes and sighed in audible disappointment.

“‘Jane Eyre’ was published in eighteen forty-seven.” She shook her head. “Movies weren’t even invented until the eighteen-eighties.”

“So was toilet paper,” He added gleefully and she let out a snort of laughter at the fact that he knew such a random piece of information.

“Is this your apology?” She questioned with an arched eyebrow and placed her book face down on the cushioned surface beside her while he handed her one of the drinks. Scooting over to make room for him to sit at the bay window with her, she took a careful sip of the drink only to find a surprising and strong but pleasant taste. “Did you spike this?”

“It’s salted caramel rum,” He nodded proudly, and joined her, his legs stretching out beside her as he leaned his back against the glass wall opposite. Now that they were sat facing each other she couldn’t avoid staring at him as he took in gulps of his own hot chocolate. There was something so inherently goofy about the way he moved that made her smile, a warmth spreading within her chest. That salted caramel rum must be strong if it was already working to warm up her chilled bones, she mused to herself.

“Did you have a good swim?” She asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“It was amazing,” He beamed. “As you can imagine, living in Beacon Hills means we don’t get to go to the beach much at all, since the closest one is hours away. I’ve only ever been a handful of times.”

“Really?” She’d never really considered that before, having always lived near the coast. The beach house had been her one real home, what with all of the moving around. Somewhere along the way, it had just become normal for her. She supposed she could add that to the list of things she’d never properly appreciated. “We should come here more often then. We can bring Lydia, and Scott, and the others some time.”

“You’d be okay with coming back here?” He clarified, knowing she’d been apprehensive enough about returning this time. The only reason she’d gone through with it was to find out more about her powers and her family’s connection to it.

“I think the more time I spend here, the more it feels like home again, instead of just the place where…where they were killed.” She gulped, forcing herself to say it. As Hermione Granger once said, fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. If she couldn’t even speak about it, how could she ever truly move on? Being here with Stiles and seeing how he found such joy in the place only reminded her of how happy she had been here for so many years of her life. She didn’t want anything to take that away from her. “There have been so many great memories here. I don’t want to let one bad one stop me from making more.”

“See, I knew you’d end up appreciating our impromptu swim.” He jested, poking fun at her. Zaida rolled her eyes in response, unable to stop her lips from breaking into a smile. “You know, apart from the seaweed.”

“If you tell anyone about that, I’ll boil every particle of water in your body.” She threatened and he raised a hand in the air in surrender.

“My lips are sealed,” He promised, emphasizing it by physically miming the action with his free hand, shifting his position to get more comfortable. His leg wound up pressing against hers, and her skin hummed with a pleasant buzz at the contact, sending a flutter into her stomach.

“I think I had too much of this.” She blinked, attempting to clear the haze in her brain as her skin flushed, peering at her almost-finished spiked drink. That was the only logical explanation for why her eyes seemed glued to him like some kind of gravitational pull, and why her heart was beating inexplicably quickly. It was the only reason why she’d be thinking about his lips and what it might feel like to kiss him. But then, what was her excuse for it crossing her mind earlier on the beach?

[starshard17]

“hey, look at me. i’m not going anywhere.” with Virgil

It's been a little while since I've written anything but I'm in the mood to write.

Pairing: Dukexiety (platonic)

-----

It was a normal day for the most part. As normal as it can get for Virgil. The anxious side could be found perched on counters and tables about the house. He was either biting at his nails or messing with the strings of his jacket as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone.

It was difficult to tell just by looking at him if there was something bothering him in the deeper corners of his mind. Granted there was always something to be worried about when you were him. Forgetting to turn off the stove, lock your car, lock the doors and windows of your home. The fear of whether there was someone already in your home because you could hear the noises of what were reminiscent to footsteps but you know you live alone.

Virgil let out a groan. He shoved his phone deep into the pocket of his jacket and he stomped his way upstairs, eyes flicking back and forth as he ascended. He needed new scenery. He had already switched between the kitchen counters, the top of the fridge, the coffee table and the back of the couch at least a hundred times. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see the familiar comforting look of his dark room. While the slightly opened door beckoned him, he turned his gaze away. He wanted to look at something different.

He trekked through the halls before coming to a sudden stop. His eyes darted up to the door of the room he had stopped beside. It was just like any other door in the hallway, except there was a green tint. Not to mention a large, sword shaped engraving on the front.

He wasn't sure why he felt the need, he and the Duke were usually on rocky terms, but his hand moved to the handle and he twisted it open, cautiously taking a step into the room.

He was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of a salty lake that was overrun with algae and full of dead fish. He choked on the smell but still pushed forward. Remus' room was by no means small. It was easy to get lost in there if you were not careful, due to its ever changing nature.

Eventually the smell either faded or Virgil's nostrils became accustomed to it, because it was no longer a bother to the anxious side. What was the real bother was that Virgil could not find a place to sit or a person to talk to.

"Maybe he's not in here." Virgil muttered to himself, silently cursing himself for even thinking it was a good idea to come in here.

"The most unpredictable side lives in this place and I came in here to sit down. The chances of being eaten by the thing I sit on is dangerously high, so why here of all places." He grumbled.

He bit at his thumbnail anxiously. Stupid...

Still, as he continued to search, he found nothing. Though he never felt compelled to leave. Why was a mystery to him. He could've been sitting already, having a great chat with Logan about space, or Roman about Disney movies, or Patton about literally anything...

Maybe it was because he missed the memories. Deep in the pit of his stomach there were butterflies. He felt sick at the thought of leaving without even at least saying hello.

Even with that dread in his stomach he turned in the direction of the door. And there, now in front of him, was a side with a crazed look in his eyes, a wide dopey smirk, and an obnoxiously green outfit.

"What, leaving already? We haven't even talked yet!" Remus cackled, grabbing Virgil's wrists and dragging him in the opposite direction of the door.

Virgil wanted to protest but then quickly settled, following the Duke as he pulled on his arms.

"What brings you to my room, Emo?" Remus asked, he head turning back to look at Virgil.

The anxious glanced back and he could tell the door was slowly growing further and further away from them. He fixed his attention back on the side pulling his arms. "Needed new scenery..." He muttered, eyes widening and looking down when he noticed the Duke making eye contact.

"Well have you come to the right place!" Remus cheered. And with a snap of his fingers the room shifted. The walls curled in on themselves and the ground beneath them both almost felt like it was tempted to swallow them whole. The room became smaller and there was a clear bed to the left side of the room. The walls were an obnoxious neon green that seemed to shift to a darker shade every second then back to the brighter color. The floor had become a tall, shaggy carpet that felt like hands trying to grab at your ankles whenever you walked.

The Duke led Virgil to sit on the bed and he kept a wide grin on his face. For once, he sat completely silent.

Virgil bit at his bottom lip and curled up on himself, unsure what to say. He got different scenery for sure, and he had found the side he had been looking for. But what was he supposed to do about conversation? There wasn't anything he particularly wanted to talk about.

Perhaps he just felt a pang of nostalgia, a feeling of yearning for his past. A longing for a moment like the two used to share ages ago.

He missed Remus.

He wouldn't tell him directly, but that was the truth. He missed the strange, quirkiness of his talk and just the sound of his voice. He just needed to sit and listen to him for a moment...

"I came to talk to you," he said, tensing as he waited for the reaction.

The Duke broke into a huge grin, clapping his hands. "Oh joys! What are we talking about?" He asked, expression crazy as ever.

Virgil bit at his thumbnail. "You choose..." He muttered under his breath, though the intrusive side seemed to pick up on the answer.

"Giving me free will, hm? Well warning you now, you're in for a real rodeo!" He cackled and next thing Virgil knew Remus was talking his ears off.

He allowed himself to relax in the sound of the Duke's voice, a small, fond smile coming to rest on his face.

Virgil sat there for the rest of the day, just listening to Remus talk. He didn't register a lot of what he was saying, but he would slip a small comment or remark every so often into the conversation, which made the Duke grin ear to ear.

It was about as chill as it could get with Remus leading the conversation. Eventually, the topic switched to something that pulled at the heart strings. Somehow, they found themselves on the topic of the past. Living together, the three of them. Virgil, Remus, and Janus.

"Those were the good old days, huh..." Remus muttered with what appeared to be a twinge of sadness in his smile.

That caused Virgil’s heart rate to spike. He got really fidgety, and he bounced his leg up and down as his breath got fast-paced and sporadic.

"No, no, no... I can't. I don't. I never wanted to leave you behind..." Virgil muttered, cutting Remus' reminiscing short.

The Duke hesitated for a mere moment before taking the anxious side's hands into his own. When Virgil didn't attempt to pull his hands away, Remus moved closer. "Hey, look at me. I'm not going anywhere."

Virgil tightened his grip on Remus' hands, eyes shakily making their way up to meet with the Duke's. "When you left, sure, it stung. A lot. It stung for all of us. It hurt. We don't have to be forced away from each other anymore. You know that. I'm always just a knock on the door away from a visit. Hell, you came to visit me out of your own free will! That's why we're sitting here!" Remus ran the pads of his thumbs over the backs of Virgil's hands in a comforting manner. That paired with the words coming from the Duke's mouth did wonders to calm him.

Virgil glanced up when he felt Remus' forehead press against his own, and he smiled weakly. It had been a while since they talked, but now they didn't have anything keeping them from sitting and talking for hours like how things used to be.

"You can stick around as long as you like. Even if you don't have anything to say." Remus told him, his voice unusually soft. "I will always be here to listen to anything you spout out."

Virgil took comfort in the promise. He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. It was a familiar promise. Similar to one he had heard Remus make before.

And he knew that promise would be kept. Even more so now that they had the choice to be near the other.

Maybe it'd be a long time before Virgil came by to visit Remus again. Only reason he had today was for a change of pace in his daily routine. But he made a mental note of what Remus had said, about not going anywhere. He had plenty of time to revisit the Duke and listen to his rambles. And what better time than the present, right? He wanted to sit there and listen to his rambles for hours on end.

It wasn't exactly the same as the past that Virgil had been yearning to reconnect with, but it was as good a start as any. It was a sweet, familiar feeling to be there with Remus in this exact moment, and he wouldn't trade that feeling for the world.

[lim-boe]

Shelby's

Tim Gutterson x afab reader

Justified

Warnings: cursing, references to puke and blood, drinking

Chapter 1:

Three kids puked in your class today and one of them was ON YOU. That stain was never gonna get out and oh boy did you need a drink. You decided to go to a bar called Shelby’s, it was a mid class establishment. One of the only nice and affordable places in Lexington. You had just gotten off work when you decided that drinking in your apartment alone sounded a bit too depressing tonight. You pulled up to the bar in your work clothes which consisted of jeans and a sweater (complete with puke stains) since the elementary school you worked at was pretty lenient on your dress code. Walking in you sat at the bar and ordered a jack and coke. A classic. If you got anything from your daddy it was his taste in alcohol. 

It was a Friday night so there were quite a few other patrons. A couple in a booth behind you, a couple in a booth next to that one, and a couple sitting across the bar from you. Damn. When was the last time you had sex let alone a relationship? You inwardly groaned and tilted your head down as you swirled your drink. Being in your late twenties was not very glamorous. You were an elementary school art teacher who just finished getting her masters a year ago. The work was fun and you enjoyed being a role model as well as a friend to the students like you needed when you were their age. With that goal in mind you didn't have much room to date in college. Having one long term relationship a few years back made you steer clear of romance while finishing your degree. Kenny was his name and apparently all he was good for was cheating on you at least twice. You dated for almost two years and when one of his friends finally slipped up and told you about Kenny’s “exploit” the night before you immediately packed his shit and changed the locks. He was never the best boyfriend, but you thought he loved you. Now love seems like bullshit, yet you still somehow wish something would work out.

While you were reminiscing about your past loves, the bar started to fill up. You had gotten there at 5:30 and now it was nearing 6:30. You had nursed two jack and cokes before you decided you had to drive home eventually. You ordered water and a beer. You had been enjoying the nice hum of people talking, but as more people entered the bar it became a bit of a loud and jumbled mess. You enjoyed the ambiance, but you decided that you should probably head out before it got too crazy. You decided to people watch before you did leave. An old guy in a bass pro shop across the room was on his 4th beer, bad fishing trip or good fishing trip and mad wife, you guessed. Another guy sitting a booth alone dressed in a suit on his third glass of whisky, divorce or a bad business deal. A group of barley legal looking kids packed into a booth only meant to fit four, all had beers and were laughing hysterically. Oh that was why it smelled like weed, they are high. You were so absorbed in the lives of others you hadn’t even noticed a guy sitting next to you. 

It was one of the only seats left at the bar, the other two empty seats being next to each other he thought he’d leave those open since he was alone. Tim had just got off of work and he needed a drink. Shooting people he could handle, but crying men who begged not to be shot. That was not up Tim’s alley and it stressed him the fuck out. Now all he wanted to do was drown his life into the practice of borderline alcoholism. He ordered two beers to start with and drank as he looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. The same stories like every other day. Those who were with coworkers or friends, those who are drowning sorrows, and couples who seemed absorbed into each other. Tim liked to think that he was not a part of any of them, but he knew he probably fell into the “drowning of sorrows” club. The woman next to him though might actually not be a part of any of them. He had noticed her when finding a seat, but he didn't think much of it. Now that he was actually looking at her, she seemed mildly entertained as she watched a couple across from them. The couple was seeming to be in a heated discussion about… huh was that Star Wars. Tim hadn't ever gotten around to watching the movies, but he thought that was a pretty good guess. He looked back to the woman next to him, she was wearing a green sweater with sheep on it, that’s interesting. She also had a pair of jeans. There was a stain on her left hip, it covered both her sweater and her jeans.

“Hey, you got a stain on your shirt and pants.” he looked at you and muttered into his beer.

You jumped, completely absorbed in the conversation across from you. You turned your head to look at him and hummed, “ hmm?”. Oh, he’s pretty.

“ You have a stain,” he nodded to where the puke stain that you had tried to get out during your lunch break was.

“ Oh yeah,” you looked down at it. It wasn’t terribly noticeable, but definitely a weird looking thing. “A kid puked on me today,” you laughed. It was a bit of an airy giggle. You looked up at him. He furrowed his eyebrows as took a sip of his beer and looked at the stain.

“That sounds fuckin awful,” he drawled, “ Well that’s a stain i have never had to clean, good luck.” 

It was your turn to quirk your eyebrow, “ It sounds like you deal with a lot of stains?” 

“ Yeah, blood stains aren’t too hard to clean.” he spoke nonchalantly, but your eyes widened a bit. 

He took another sip of his beer then stuck out his hand, “ U.S Marshal, Tim Gutterson.”

At that you relaxed and smiled while shaking his hand, “ Y/N Givens, Elementary School Teacher.”

…

To be continued

[remisummerglow]

Down and Out and Smaller (Prologue)

Amy walked out of her car with trepidation, reminiscing about the events that led her to enter a sciencefictionesque laboratory with her six-inches roommate firmly tucked in her bra. Just a few days prior, this would have been unthinkable; but when Jake couldn't pay his rent after losing his job, she handed him this flier she had found at her campus. He was shrunk in an experiment in exchange for money. And then somehow–white wine and her friend Katya were definitely involved - they had started sleeping together.

"Amy? Come inside, sweetheart, it’s great to see you!" Dr. Diana Hills, the mastermind behind Sizelab, greeted her as if she were an old friend.

"Um, hello doctor," Amy smiled awkwardly.

"So how did it go? From the look on your face, I can already tell things have been great."

"Yeah, pretty much," Amy said, the uneasy feeling of having forgotten something lingering in her mind.

"And how is our subject, our friend Jake, if I may ask?"

Amy gasped and suddenly, her face turned red. She had forgotten to take Jake out of her bra before getting to the lab. "I..." she stuttered, "I think I forgot him in my car."

"Strange," said Dr. Hills, "I thought I could smell a tiny man nearby, possibly very near," she went on as she sniffed toward Amy's chest.

"I'll just go out and get him!" Amy blurted as she ran away from the lab as quickly as her high-heeled shoes allowed her.

Once she thought she was safe from indiscreet looks, she unbuttoned her shirt and fished the little man out from the middle of her cleavage.

Jake let out a sigh as he breathed some fresh air - it was a fairly warm May morning, but it felt chilly compared to the atmosphere inside the giant woman's clothes.

"Amy, is that you?" asked a familiar voice. The girl turned around to see Linda, a curvy blonde she had already met at the lab in their previous shrinking appointment.

"I see that you and your roommate are getting much closer," Linda laughed.

"I just... I just put him there for safety purposes!" Amy stuttered.

Linda chuckled - "Yeah, yeah, I love to keep my boyfriend safe too," she winked.

"Right," Amy said as she ran past Linda, "we're already late, so I'll see you in the waiting room."

"There he is," the doctor said as Amy returned to the laboratory, this time carrying Jake in her hand. Diana grabbed the tiny man that the young brunette handed her and sniffed him. "He seems to be in great health, but I don't know why he smells so much like Yves Saint-Laurent."

"Well," Amy said, eager to switch the subject. "I suppose he will shrink to one inch today?"

"Considering his normal height... 1.06 inches to be exact," the doctor calculated. "As usual, I will ask you to leave the laboratory during the procedure."

"Right," Amy said, and she left the room. She found Linda patiently sitting in the waiting room, browsing a magazine.

The blonde woman smiled at her. “Second time, huh?”

“Yup,” Amy nodded. “And you?”

"As for us, today's the day," Linda said, looking down at her chest and poking her necklace. "Mark's finally growing back."

“Oh, great,” Amy said. “He must be thrilled about that.”

“He probably is, I couldn’t tell. See?” The woman said as she pointed at the cube at the end of the necklace. “That’s him in there.”

Amy focused her gaze on the little transparent cube attached to Linda’s necklace and resting on top of her tits. “Wow!” she gasped as she finally saw the ant-sized man trapped inside. “He’s that small now?”

Linda nodded. “That’s stage three for you, honey. They gave us this necklace to keep him, so he doesn’t get lost.” The blonde woman toyed with the cube until she hid it in the middle of her cleavage, letting it, along with her boyfriend, disappear. “It’s kinda boring when he’s this small,” she said with a disappointed look on her face. “It’s no fun when I can barely feel him on me.”

“I can imagine,” Amy nodded.

“When he was one inch tall though…” she said with a dreamy expression. “I almost wish I could keep him that size,” Linda sighed. “Those days were so fun. Do you think I could borrow Jake?” she laughed. “Just kidding, just kidding. I assume you two are a thing, now,” she added as she saw Amy’s shocked face.

“I’m not sure about that…” Amy said. “Things are moving quickly, you know...”

“Well I won’t insist,” she said. “But in my opinion, you did the right thing. You won’t get many chances to try that kind of experience!”

“I guess you could say that,” Amy laughed.

The doctor came in. “Amy,” she called. “Jake’s ready and waiting for you.”

The young brunette waltzed inside the lab, anxious to see Jake at his new reduced size. She immediately looked at the desk where she remembered finding him the first time he shrank. "Where is he?" she asked once she could not see him in there.

"Why don't you look harder, sweetheart?"

And the doctor's fingertip pointed over the desk until it was in front of a miniaturized human figure.

"Jake!" gasped Amy, who was not prepared to see her roommate bug-sized. "I knew he was going to be this small and still…"

The doctor seemed proud. "The power of research!" she boasted.

Amy hesitated, feeling like the minuscule Jake could break between her fingers if she tried picking him up.

"Ah, don't worry," the doctor said as she grabbed the tiny man from the table and brought him to her face. "They're sturdier than they look at this size."

Jake shrieked as he was lifted in the air at a faster speed than he was expecting or had ever experienced. "Was that him?" asked Amy, as she thought he heard his voice, though it came out very softly to the giant women.

"Huh? Didn't hear anything,” the doctor said, feigning ignorance, and she handed the little man to Amy.

The girl pinched Jake between her thumb and index, trying to be as soft and gentle as possible. Most of his body could fit on her long fingernails, whose white color heavily contrasted his dark grey shrink-suit. Only his head came out of her grip.

"Poor Jake," she cooed, an expression of pity in her eyes. "I will take care of you, little guy."

The doctor was smiling at the heartwarming scene. "Seeing you two like this reminds me of all the fun I had with my husband. I think tonight he's going to be my little toy," she chuckled.

Her toy? Amy looked at Jake and bit her lip. She had already been fantasizing about the things she wanted to do to him, but now that he saw him in her hand so helpless... she realized he was really going to be nothing more than her plaything for the next couple of days.

"Well," Amy said, trying to snap out of her perverted thoughts, "I guess that we should be going, now."

“Yes,” nodded Diana. "Thank you very much for today, and as always, find my assistant on your way back to receive your compensation."

"Wait!" Jake shouted, trying to be heard. "Aren't you going to ask her if I can have alcohol?"

*

Before leaving, Amy headed for the bathroom. She giggled as she saw Jake appearing in the middle of her opening fist. He was so small she could easily forget she was carrying him. Luckily for him, she hadn't forgotten, and she actually had been busy thinking of her plans for him.

Then she unbuttoned her pants, ready to show Jake his seat for the drive home.

"I know you were expecting to ride higher up," she explained, “but I don’t think I can wait to play with you any longer.” She giggled as she tossed him inside her panties, so little space was needed for him that she only had to use the tip of her fingernail to lift the hem of the lace underwear; and down in the darkness of the black fabric he went.

She started massaging her crotch through the fabric, pushing Jake against her soft pussylips, letting him become tangled with the sticky flesh. That’s how she decided to break in her toy. Her labia welcomed Jake, swallowing him like a carnivorous plant spotting a nearby insect. Once he was starting to dive inside, Amy kept pleasuring her demanding flesh, rubbing her crotch with increasing intensity. Jake found himself completely helpless, having become a small part of the woman’s self-gratification mechanism, and forced against the lubricated walls of her pussy, intoxicated with the smell of her sex, gasping for air and yet crazed with the stimulation his whole body was receiving.

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[sparks-chaotic-cove]

Doing a bit of a writing exercise here! focused on descriptions! Using our dear old Fable characters as the characters I'm writing from-

(Aax!:)

As Aax crept down the wooden staircase, a waft of chilly air met them. The breeze ruffled their hair, blowing strands very softly in different directions. A few steps down, and the comforting sound of trickling water could be heard. A small smile crept across his face as he took a deep breath, absorbing the familiarity of this cave environment he was stepping into. A board creaked as he made his way onto the bridge, settling against the rough wooden railings to peer at the stream of water below. Also below, was a bench. And that bench was perfect. Wool blankets were draped over the wood, colored to each person they represented. He couldn't help but smile at that; Rae had organized them, like he always did with everything else. It was endearing. Eventually, Aax trailed down the stairs, dragging his hand across the cold and damp stone wall, his fingers bumping up an down over the grooves and patches of moss. The moss at the bottom made a slight crunching sound almost reminiscent of snow when he stepped off the stairway. The humid yet cold air of cave was stronger down here, next to the winding stream. He took his spot on the bench, sitting in the little magenta square of fabric, curling their legs up and getting cozy, just looking out onto the flowing water, which was dotted with different plants. The reflection of glowberries, the large dripleaves, the lilypads. It was all perfect. It felt like home. And it was built by a person who felt like home- and that made it all the better.

(Rae!: )

The clacking of his boots and slightly heavy breaths filled the air as he twirled his way down the winding stairs. The rest of the silence was filled by a quiet melodic hum, recalling the notes of a song he remembered from long ago, although he neglected to remember exactly where it was from. His book of notes tapped against his thigh with every step, swinging back and forth. With a few more turns, he felt the cold cave air rustle his cape. The smell reminded him of his partner, Aax; who was also the man who he'd decorated this for... well, one of them, at least. The cold air was almost refreshing after being cooped up in his study all evening; it banished the growing indifference from his mind. Best of all, it felt easier to breath. His boots were not loud, but they weren't exactly what one would call quiet, either. As he made his way across the bridge, he heard a soothing, calm voice ask, "Rae?". The scientist jumped a bit- he hadn't expected anyone to be down here. Usually Aax was at the dock, and Caspian in his workshop. Both would return at night, Caspian's shirt stained by grease and hair as tangled as when he first awoke; and Aax's hands smelling of fish. He had grown used to the smell of fish, along with the lingering taste of rotten flesh. It didn't bother him anymore- in fact, it reminded him of Aax, and that was good enough for him. That didn't mean he'd eat rotten flesh of his own choice, though. "Aax?" he chirped back warily, peering around the corner of the post. Warm black eyes stared into his, half obscured by small red glasses. A sharp-toothed smile spread across the olm's face, and Rae quickened his pace down the stairs, barely noticing the increase in humidity and chill, as well as the growing noise of the stream flowing through the area. His fisherman rose to greet him, wrapping his cold arms around the taller man's torso. Rae brushed the mop of white hair away for a moment to place a quick kiss on the smaller man's forehead, wrapping his own arms around the other's shoulders. "Come sit!" Aax chirped, pulling away and leading Rae by the hand to the bench, patting the seat with a soft laugh.

"We've not gotten to sit for a while, have we?" Rae asked, crawling up onto the bench. Aax shook their head, nestling into his side and taking one of Rae's hands in his two, playing with his ink-stained fingers and comparing the differences in the size.

"We can fix that now, though!" Aax assured, looking up to meet Rae's now green eyes. "so, baby, what've you been studying?"